


their celestial silhouettes

by ivyeyed



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Character Death, Character Study, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Minor Original Character(s), Pre-Hogwarts, Rare Pairings, Wizarding Wars (Harry Potter), reluctant dad/landlord
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:26:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28373112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivyeyed/pseuds/ivyeyed
Summary: In which Narcissa becomes a widow before the end of the first wizarding war. She makes the necessary changes in her life to protect her most precious possession from both sides of a tension she wants little to do with. Her actions send ripples of change over an unstable landscape and create future strife and conflict she can little imagine.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Remus Lupin/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 173
Kudos: 329





	1. Prologue: Narcissa Malfoy

The day her husband takes his final breath, Narcissa feels that she is able to breathe for the first time in years. She receives the missive on a cold overcast November morning during tea with her in-laws. She had been looking out the window, watching the ghostly shapes of the white peacocks scurry around the grounds. Her mother-in-law had been lecturing her about some manor business she expects Nariccisa to take over in the coming year. Narcissa is twenty-three and finding that married life is not all she thought it would be. These days her husband seems to love rising higher in the ranks of his dark mentor more than sharing her bed and affection. Her in-laws seem to love criticizing her every move as they groom her to be the next Lady Malfoy. Narcissa begins to wonder if she remembers how to love anything more than herself. 

Narcissa actually feels pity for the elf that delivers the missive. The wretched creature tries to insist that Lord Malfoy should read the parchment bearing the Dark Lord’s seal with his own eyes. Lord Malfoy’s eyesight is falling victim to old age, and he makes the little creature deliver the news of his son’s demise on the battlefield. Narcissa watches Lady Malfoy’s normally steady hand drop her eighteenth-century teacup on the marble floor. As it shatters, Lord Malfoy’s eyes glaze over at the loss of their only child and heir. He lashes out at the elf adding a splatter of blood to broken china on the floor. 

Narcissa supposes that she should be gasping for air and publicly weeping at the early end of her husband of three years. She does gasp, but her breaths fill her with a lightness she hasn’t felt since she was a school girl stealing kisses from a much older and beautiful blond boy behind tapestries. His hands had snuck under her school blouse and brushed against her rib cage as her chest had filled with the infatuation of adolescent love. Those early days of her courtship could have been the subject of love poems. The match had made her parents proud, and the allure of becoming the Lady of a flourishing and noble house had swept her away almost as much as Lucius had. She remembers the lightness of knowing her whole future is ahead of her. She studies the faces of her in-laws at that moment, both painted with a grief she hopes never to know. A dangerous idea takes root that morning in the drawing-room as the foundation of the Malfoy line cracks. Narcissa dares to hope that with all of her cunning, maybe that feeling of lightness could return once again. 

They say she’s shell-shocked at the funeral. She stays quiet, and they fill her silence with all the appropriate responses of a grieving widow. They whisper about her rumpled oversized robes and hollowed expression. When she excuses herself to the loo to wretch up her breakfast during the proceedings, the pureblood elite turns up their collective nose at her poor constitution. The Dark Lord sends his condolences with one of his most trusted servants, and a medal of honor is presented to Lady Malfoy who politely dabs her eyes with an elf embroidered handkerchief bearing the Malfoy seal. Narcissa wants little to do with the Dark Lord that stole her husband from her. She never wishes to again gaze upon the face of the man who stained the hands that used to hold her red with the blood of women and children. 

Narcissa hears the whispers behind her back. “Whatever will happen to his grieving widow,” they seem to scream behind tight lips and pitying glances. It goes unsaid out loud, but she is the wife who never followed through on her end of the engagement contract: to produce a living heir. All she has given the Malfoy name are three small burial plots under a willow tree in the family plot’s back corner. She adorns three unmarked graves with flowers every week to replace the names they never allowed her to give them. 

Iris, Wisteria, and Ren. After all, Lady Malfoy had told her only the living needed names to be remembered by. 

Narcissa knows she has fallen from lady to burden on this family. She watches with alienated blue eyes as her in-laws talk in hushed whispers with their solicitors in the dark corner of the ballroom. She catches the eye of the one in the velvet robes and dragonhide boots; he looks at her as if she’s some great obstacle he needs to vanquish. She watches her husband's cousins circle each other like a flock of vultures in couture robes. The eldest, Emilien, walks with his wife presented in front of him. She clutches a small bundle of blue silks with shockingly light hair against the dark fabric. His wife looks lost as she stares at the babe, who she can’t keep from crying and who would no doubt rather be wrapped in the arms of his nurse elf than those of his own mother. Emilien looks displeased with them both. 

Narcissa tries her best to disappear into the dark wallpaper when the inner circle of Death Eaters descends upon the home to offer their condolences. She avoids the wild look of her eldest sister’s black eyes as she kisses her cheeks and proudly boasts that “Lucius died well” and she should “be proud he gave his life in service to their Lord”. They cheer to that notion. Firewhisky and elven wine slosh all over the priceless floors. She watches as Bella laughs at something her paramour says while cursing an elf that bumped into her with a canape tray. The musical laugh she remembers from her childhood has turned into a dark cackle that hurts her ears. 

As the wake concludes, the guests start to apparate out of the main foyer into the night. Narcissa knows what is coming and disappears out the back to the terrace for privacy. The head solicitor with the cold eyes finds her sitting on the frozen ground surrounded by a flock of white elegant birds she finds to be better company than those she left inside. He scoffs at her undignified appearance before launching into the speech that sounds rehearsed and that she knew would be coming from the moment her mother-in-law dropped her china teacup on that cold morning. 

He tells her she never provided a living heir and has not fulfilled her end of the marriage contract. He tells her if she quietly agrees to be stripped of her title as Lady Malfoy and return to her surname of Black, the current Lord and Lady will agree to a small monthly allowance and use of one of their smaller villas in France. She stares at the largest peacock's dark eyes as the solicitor spins a well-concocted tale. Lucius would insist that Emilien continue on the Malfoy line in his stead. The solicitor insists that this matter needs to be put to rest quickly and efficiently to allow a smooth transition of power in the line. Narcissa supposes he has to compensate for bringing this all up before Lucius is even cold in the ground. His closing statement reminds her that she is entirely on her own now that her parents have passed, and Lord and Lady Malfoy’s generosity and understanding will keep her afloat. All she has to do is sign on the dotted line. Narcissa looks at the flock of peacocks forever trapped in the grounds of the estate, their white feathers gleaming in the moonlight, and makes her decision. She wants more than to stay drifting. 

“No.”

It hurts to speak after being quiet for so long, and the solicitor begins to turn a shade of chartreuse at her blunt response. Narcissa raises to her feet and realizes that she is a head taller than the man in the velvet and expensive robes. She throws her shoulders back and transforms from a grieving widow into the cunning pureblood witch she was raised to be. Her voice takes on a tone she recognizes from her youth, one she used to use when she wanted something from a man. She tells him while she appreciates her in-laws' generous offer, she could not imagine infringing upon the Malfoy Estate for the rest of her days. The solicitor deflates his anger as she speaks and takes on the air of a man who has won a great argument. Narcissa tells him she insists on returning to her sister’s estate and living off the Black family’s generous savings until she can broker another marriage for herself. He edits the contract right there on the terrace surrounded by the Malfoy family peacocks. Narcissa pulls out her wand and charms the parchment with her signature. 

  
  


_ Narcissa Black _

She takes off the family ring and hands it back to the solicitor, who seems delighted with himself and the favor he has just surely curried with Lord Malfoy. She imagines him presenting the ring like a prize he had to spill blood to win. She packs her expensive robes and jewels. She packs up her books and trinkets in the trunk of her youth. In the dark hours of the morning, she leaves down the front-drive, her miniaturized belongings in her robe pockets. She clutches her wand in her left hand and her softly swollen abdomen in her right, caressing the bulge with a gentleness she isn’t sure she truly possesses. She does not look back as she apparates away into the darkness. 

It’s dawn by the time she builds up the courage to approach the muggle doorway. It’s a modest dwelling two levels large with an overgrown garden tucked away from the terrors of the wizarding world. She rechecks the address against the old letter, a letter asking for aid, which she left unanswered. The writing is sharp and blunt, so much different than her flowing script. She tucks the letter in her pocket and makes her way up the stepping stones to the door. 

Narcissa thought she had calculated every possibility upon the door opening but had not been prepared for the appearance of a girl less than ten staring up at her with confused dark eyes and tousled mouse-colored hair. She had begun to scoff at the appearance of a child- there was a war going on, but the appearance of the woman coming down the hall behind her makes her shut her mouth. As the figure comes into focus, Narcissa feels all her hard-fought lightness evaporate. 

The woman wears muggle jeans and a sweater that has seen one too many moths. The woman stares at her before moving a curly brown hair behind her ear and placing a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, telling her sternly to head back inside. The little girl turns back, staring at her with childhood inquisitiveness before disappearing into the warm interior of the home. The dark-haired woman moves further inside, and Narcissa prepares for the slam of the green door. 

Andromeda turns back toward her, offering a small smile. Her dark eyes are crinkled and show the beginnings of lines in their corners. And Narcissa is struck with just how long it had been since she looked upon her big sister’s face. 

“Well, come on in then, Cissa, you’re letting all the heat out.” 

There in the muggle garden in the warm glow of morning for the first time since her husband's passing: Narcissa weeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, 
> 
> With quarantine this past year, I have found myself back in the warm embrace of fanfiction and writing for the first time in years. Excuse the dust and cobwebs, but I had this idea for a story and wanted to give it a go. I've long been fascinated by the relationship between Narcissa and Draco and how they humanize each other. Thank you for giving this a shot, and please pardon any minor grammar errors. I'm currently on this ride solo, 
> 
> Stay Healthy and Safe, 
> 
> ivyeyed


	2. Narcissa Black

The war had been over for more than two years, but Narcissa still found herself clinging to her son’s tiny body with fierce protectiveness. His dusky blond head was currently tucked into her arms across her chest in the little single bed they shared in her sister’s potting shed. Today was an important day, and Narcissa hoped by the end of it, Draco would be guaranteed security. Draco was growing quickly and was undoubtedly becoming too old to share a bed with her for much longer. As much as Narcissa wanted to bid her thoroughly muggle existence good riddance, she would miss these quiet moments in the morning. The early light had a way of creeping through the upstairs window of Ted’s shed and illuminating her son’s features in a way that still left her breathless. 

Narcissa had spent the entirety of her pregnancy with near-constant thoughts of everything that could go wrong and had found it hard to let go of those worries in the time since. Her careful gamble of independence only worked if her in-laws and pureblood society, in general, did not feel the need to inquire after the birth of her child so close to Lucius’s death. She and Andromeda had spent several hours in her sister’s tiny kitchen coming up with a plausible timeline and weaving a tale of deception. At the time, Narcissa could not confirm exactly how far along she was since she had not brought her suspicions to a healer yet. It was undoubtedly early; Narcissa had slept with her husband only a handful of times in the months before his death. She was self-conscious of her gently swollen stomach, but Andromeda assured her that it was not at all noticeable. 

Narcissa found it humorous that in those early days, she had desperately wanted nothing more than to stay hidden in her sister’s rather unseemly muggle home, then out and about in pureblood society where she belonged. Andromeda was brilliant, though, and encouraged Narcissa to be present in society until she started to show to create speculation from her peers about the child’s sire. Narcissa made herself go to functions, often draped on the arm of a rich wizard for the evening. After all, she had told the solicitor who had arranged the annulment that she would seek another marriage, and she tried to do so as publicly as possible. 

Witch Weekly had ripped her apart and with a full spread across several pages. Narcissa supposed with the war efforts ramping up that there was little tabloid news other than her apparent pursuit of a husband after being tossed aside from perhaps the most significant house and influence under the Dark Lord’s reign. Pureblood women who once feared her opinion of their choice of tea sandwiches at luncheons now said hideous words behind her back. Ironically every mention of “slag” or “gallon chasing witch” actually made her feel more safe and secure than being a respected and grieving widow had. Narcissa had hidden away in the potting shed’s upper level when it was no longer feasible to hide the pregnancy. No one thought anything of her disappearance because the war was coming to a boiling point. Narcissa spent that bleak spring stubbornly staying out of any conflict, often watching bloody figures show up on her sister’s back stoop seeking aid. 

A large part of her hated her sister’s involvement with the resistance. Narcissa worried about the wrath she would endure being found with the wrong sister if the Dark Lord would emerge victoriously. Even more, she feared to be found with a baby with grey eyes and white-blonde hair that was the spitting image of a man buried in the ground. Neither thought was as horrifying as receiving a future letter that her son had perished in service to the Dark Lord, as his father did. So she stayed and picked the path that at least could offer her eventual freedom despite her worries.

The sun had begun to set when her water broke. Andromeda had held her hand through the whole labor. When her sister had plucked her new babe from her body, she told Narcissa that her magic had known to protect him. Narcissa looked at her boy’s features and thanked every celestial body in the sky. He had her own coloring and eyes. Andromeda told her he was her spitting image from childhood, and Narcissa held him to her chest and cried. As the night sky started to give way to dawn, the two Black sisters consulted the star charts from the night of his birth. She had reluctantly listened to Ted when he told her that the Draco constellation had been clearest that night. Narcissa had chosen the middle name Cygnus, not in admiration of her father, but to make it clear on whose family tree her child belonged. Draco Cygnus Black was born into a world erupting in chaos, but Narcissa had never felt peace like she did when holding her child to her chest. They had to bribe a clerk in the magical registration office to push his birth month from May to July. The man drove up a high price, but Narcissa wanted no one to speculate anything other than that her traipsing around after her husband's death had resulted in a child out of wedlock. 

Andromeda reported the whispers about her in the months after the Potter baby had defeated the Dark Lord. She did nothing to stop them and maybe even encouraged a few by frequently appearing in Diagon Alley with her baby in a magical pram. Narcissa would spend long afternoons visiting nearly every store and blatantly buying Draco books and toys she didn’t have the gallons to afford. Narcissa knew despite all the careful orchestrating that it was all still a poor ruse if anyone decided to look deeper into her son’s parentage. All it would take for her in-laws to claim him would be to bring him the manor and let the Malfoy family blood wards welcome home the true heir. 

It was to her quiet joy that the rumors had started to weave themselves into some sort of universal truth. The end of the war had brought about the death of Lord Malfoy. Lady Malfoy followed her husband to the grave soon after his passing, as good wives tend to. Emilien had clawed his way to the throne carrying his own Malfoy heir the whole climb. It was only when their faces plastered the front of the daily prophet announcing the new head of the family did she begin to feel safe that the House of Malfoy would not search for its true heir. Narcissa knew little of Emilien’s character but made the educated guess that as long as she faded into obscurity, he would not actively seek to tarnish his claim to the estate. 

Draco began stirring, his blue eyes slowly opening and peering toward her as he burrowed into her chest in the chill of the morning. As he grew older, Narcissa felt sure that he was to be hers alone. He didn’t need Lucius clouding his pure gaze with the responsibilities of being the future Lord Malfoy. Narcissa gathered him up and placed a quick kiss on his forward before rising to get them ready for the day. 

She fastened a fitted but modestly cut robe over her shoulders. The style was a few seasons old now. She placed Draco in one of Nyphodora’s hand-me-downs, the bright orange color clashing with his complexion. She scowled at the gaudy garment and longed to buy him proper wizarding clothes. She adorned his head with a handmaid hat from her niece as he wobbled on his feet, following her around the small room he had known as home. The air was crisp as they made their way over the lawn’s wet grass to her sister’s back door. Narcissa spared a goodbye glance at the potting shed. Perhaps she would miss the dwelling if everything went to plan today. Andromeda awaited them both in the kitchen with a screaming tea kettle and some porridge for Draco to inevitably fling all over the floor. Narcissa greeted her sister with a curt nod and a tight smile. Neither was looking forward to the proceedings this morning for different reasons. 

Andromeda poured the tea with a small flick over her wand. Her husband and daughter were still asleep as both tended to be late risers. Narcissa thought it was remarkably muggled to let half the day go to waste before rising, but she said nothing negative aloud of her brother-in-law and the example he set for her niece. 

“Are you ready for the meeting?” Andromeda asked, her voice still scratchy with sleep. Narcissa nodded as she fed her son his breakfast. 

“You’ll be over this evening with our possessions?” She inquired, her voice rising despite her best attempts to appear neutral. She was nervous and still unsure with absolute certainty that this was the right move in achieving the uttermost safety for Draco. Andromeda smiled while grabbing her sister’s hand over the kitchen table. 

“Someone needed to take over the family trust, Cissa. We both know it could never have been me. It will be in the best interests of both you and Draco as unsavory as the next few hours may prove.” 

Her words soothed Narcissa, and she offered her sister a less tight-lipped smile. She knew she was right, and while part of her selfishly wished to share a bed with her son until he was old enough to complain, it wasn’t fair to him to grow up in a place where magic was minimal to avoid suspicion from the neighbors. She glanced at the cat-shaped clock over the oven. It was nearly the hour now. Despite all her complaints over the years of practically living like a muggle, Narcissa would quietly miss the comfortable existence with her sister’s family. 

She gathered Draco close to her chest and offered a small thank you to her sister for both breakfast and the thousands of in-between moments since she first showed up on her stoop. Her pride couldn’t let her voice all the gratitude out loud. Andromeda had always been the most perceptive of the three sisters, and Narcissa genuinely hoped that she knew what the kindness had meant to her. Her self-imposed ostracization from high society had left her with an unclouded view of high pureblood society for the first time in her life, and Narcissa found herself with few places fit. Her mother would turn in her grave, but here in her sister’s home was one of the few places she felt safe. With one last glance at the clock, Narcissa removed her wand and watched her sister’s bright yellow kitchen spin into a posh muggle street as she gracefully apparated them both with a soft pop. She tried her best to confidently walk to the door of Number 12 and rang the bell. 

The solicitor who answered the door was portly and friendly. She knew he worked for the ministry in some low ranking office. She turned up her nose and followed him through the doorway, her expression a poised mask. 

“Ms. Black, we were so pleased you could meet us in person. The paperwork is almost in order, but I apologize we have hit a small snag with the deed’s finalization. If you follow me into the drawing-room while we wait for the final party to arrive, I will explain,” he ushered her in. The Black family wards welcomed her into their embrace like an old friend. The hideous portrait of her Aunt Walburga even seemed to offer a silent approval of her presence. 

“I must admit to some confusion, Mr. Grant. I thought the final step was simply officiating the deed and the trust,” she asked cooly, but not unkindly. Mr. Grant had handled her case pro bono with the promise she would pay once she had access to what remained of the Black family vaults. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and ushered her to the couch. 

“There was a small snag with your cousin’s assets. I apologize for the lack of notice. His beneficiary will be here momentarily and has expressed little regard for his wishes. I hope that he will sign the assets over to the rightful and sole heir of the Black family,” Mr. Grant explained. He handed her a teacup, and Narcissa quietly wondered how many cups of tea she would have to stomach today. Draco sat quietly in her lap, taking in his new surroundings. The parlor was shabby and covered with several years’ worth of dust. Clearly, the house elf had neglected its responsibilities after it’s master’s death. It lacked the warmness of her sister’s kitchen, and Narcissa surprisingly found herself missing the cramped space. 

The doorbell rang, and Mr. Grant quickly shuffled to the door. Aunt Walburga was less fond of their new guest. 

“Half-breed. How dare you sully the most Ancient House of Black with your presence!” 

Narcissa quickly covered Draco’s ears to the shrill wail of her Aunt, and she could hear Mr. Grant’s apology as he struggled to shut the curtain in the entryway. Narcissa watched the young man enter behind Mr. Grant. He wore ill-fitting shabby robes several sizes too large. He looked haggard and had a fresh scar on his cheek. He seemed startled by her presence, and his eyes dropped to the child in her lap. 

“What is the meaning of this Grant? I thought this was only a cursory meeting?” His voice was soft compared to his appearance but had a wary edge to it as he took in her form on the couch. Narcissa silently appraised him trying to devise a plan for this unexpected intruder. He certainly looked like he had little assets to his name; maybe he would be willing to sign over whatever her daft cousin had left him for the right price. 

“Mr. Lupin, if you would be so kind as to sit, I can explain in full. Please meet Ms. Narcissa Black, the sole heiress of the Black family,” Her name seemed to elicit a reaction from the man in front of her. She looked back on her memory, trying to place his name and face. She was reasonably sure that one of Sirus’s school chums had that surname, but she couldn’t identify the man in front of her with any of the faces of his immature comrades. Narcissa offered him a curt nod and clenched Draco closer to her chest. Lupin moved toward the couch and leaned against the armrest opposite of her but remained standing.

Mr. Grant seemed resigned to the placement and began pulling out parchments from his briefcase and stacking them neatly on the coffee table. Narcissa glanced at Lupin out of the corner of her eye, her interest hidden behind her neat blond hair. He was so much different than the refined pureblood men she had surrounded herself with during her adolescence. Even somehow vastly different from her sister’s perpetually cheery and well-meaning muggle-born husband. Lupin looked comparatively feral but spoke with a softness she hardly ever heard from the men in her circles, no arrogance or pride recognizable. 

“Ms. Black, after the trials and subsequent sentencing for your sister and cousin. You have found yourself in the unique position of being the sole free and living inheritor of the Black family estates,” Narcissa bit her tongue at the lack of mention of her elder sister. Her father had aggressively removed all traces of Andromeda from his will after her disownment. 

“The ministry has seized nearly all the Black family estates and assets. A modest trust is still intact and will be granted to you as previously agreed upon with your willing cooperation in granting the ministry rights to the rest of the funds as war reparations. If wisely used, the trust should keep you and your son living comfortably until he is of age,” Mr. Grant continued. She heard the man next to her snort at the phrasing of “modest trust”. While this particular wording was a gross underestimation of the funds available to the last living free Black, it was not nearly what Narcissa had personally grown up around. Draco would have a roof over his head and be comfortable, but nothing more. As she was currently living off her sister’s hospitality, she had very little leverage to negotiate for a more significant sum despite her best attempts. 

“We have discussed and agreed upon all of this at length, Mr. Grant. What is the sudden deviation?” Narissa asked, ignoring the man leaning against the sofa. 

Mr. Grant took a long sip of tea and cleared his throat before continuing, “Upon going through Mr. Sirius Black’s assets, it appears he has neglected typical Black family tradition and allocated his assets to a different inheritor-” 

“I don’t want any of it.” The man next to her growled with an edge she had not suspected him capable of. 

“Mr. Lupin, if you would please hold your tongue, I can explain the unexpected issue my office discovered yesterday,” Mr. Grant continued, pushing the documents across the table. 

“Mr. Black does not have the rights to this property legally because of his disownment. Before her death, Walburga Black left the deed to this home to her second son, Regulus,” Narcissa nodded at his words being well informed of all of this. 

“The ministry was initially set on allowing the Head of the Black family to retain the rights to this property because of the complicated blood wards in place. Only familial connections to the Black estate are permitted guardianship here, unlike the other properties we seized which can be sold or repurposed,” Mr. Grant continued, and Lupin looked even more puzzled. 

“It would appear, though, that Mr. Black found a loophole before his arrest and subsequent incarceration. At the time, he would have been the rightful owner of the property as far as the ancient blood wards are concerned, regardless of what his mother dictated in her will. He decided to write his godson into the magical foundation this home sits upon. Harry James Potter would appear to be the rightful inheritor of Number 12 Grimmauld Place,” Mr. Grant quietly concluded. Narcissa felt dread as she picked up the parchment to read the words for herself, while Draco grabbed at the roll of paper, unaware of their contents. Lupin followed her lead, his color becoming even paler at the news. 

“After his trial, Mr. Black indicated that Mr. Lupin would be Harry Potter’s proxy until he is of age himself to decide what to do with the property. I was hoping that among the three of us, we could reach an amicable solution outside of the courtroom,” Mr. Grant explained.

Narcissa felt growing dread. For Draco’s continued safety, she needed this building perhaps even more so than the trust. Lupin, a man she did not know, now held all the cards to her future. 

“Would you be able to give me a moment alone with Mr. Lupin?” Narcissa asked him. Lupin looked startled at the suggestion, and she watched his eyes dart toward the exit while Mr. Grant made his way to the doorway. 

Narcissa placed Draco on the floor in front of her, where he continued to tear at the legal documents that sealed their fate. 

“Mr. Lupin, I will assume that you have heard the rumors about me in polite society,” Narcissa began turning toward him. He nodded, not denying her words, and made eye contact with her for the first time. He had kind eyes that matched his voice, she decided. Maybe there would be hope for her family yet. 

“I was hoping to procure this property as a safe space for my son to grow up in. The familial wards are still strong and selective of those who may enter. It would offer me certain security that no harm would come to him,” 

“The war is over, Mrs. Malfoy. What could still hurt you and your son,” he responded. 

“It’s Ms. Black,” she corrected icily before looking away from him and down toward Draco, who was now holding onto her knees. “I learned long ago not to trust times of peace. Darkness lurks in the brightest of corners.” 

Silence descended upon them as they both watched the child in their midst. She hoped Draco would soften him towards her. Lupin seemed like a fair man, and his animosity toward her cousin’s betrayal might put him on her side. 

“Perhaps I could allow you to lease the property until Harry is of age,” Remus conceded, “I want little to do with it, but I will not take away his inheritance. When he is an adult, perhaps he will feel similarly and relinquish it back to the family name that played a part in his parents’ death.”

Narcissa felt the weak pull of the potential victory. It would leave her with less money for Draco’s upbringing, but the house was nonnegotiable for his safety, and that was all that mattered in the end. 

“That seems like a fair agreement, Mr. Lupin,” she told him demurely, silently pleased herself. 

“I would want occasional visits to check up on Harry’s inheritance,” Lupin told her with distrust.

Narcissa’s blood silently boiled. Who was he to demand access to the last ancestral home of the Black Family? What sort of entitlement from a wizard of little societal standing. She willed herself to stay calm and composed. Agree to his terms, she told herself quietly, and you can fight once the ink on the deed has dried. She had nodded at him curtly, too afraid to speak and have her private thoughts bared to him. 

Lupin told Mr. Grant to write up the agreement, which he did happily. A modest sum of gallons would be deposited into Harry Potter’s account monthly until he was of age. They both signed, and Lupin quickly saw himself out before Narissa could fight him further about the ridiculousness of the future property inspections. Mr. Grant assured her that wards would now only let in Lupin, Potter, and herself and Draco unless there was a written invitation from the owners to a potential guest. Narcissa did not find this news reassuring. 

Narcissa was left alone in the dark drawing-room. The day had not offered the safety and satisfaction she had hoped it would. She warily collected her son and climbed the townhouse stairs to the master bedroom. Draco had fallen asleep during the signing, unaware of the turmoil his mother faced. She placed him in the middle of the dusty bed, surrounded by a cushioning charm. Her hands glided over the finery in the hallway, covered in dust. She made her way to the familiar drawing-room that she, her sisters, and cousins used to chase each other through as children, much to the chagrin of her Aunt and Uncle. 

This room was the real reason she had needed the house. She traced the delicate omniscient gold threads on the old family tapestry, starting with her grandfather and stopping at the charred remains of her sister’s name. The Black Family tapestry was ancient and complicated magic only damaged by dark magic. She frowned at her son’s name and birthdate written in gold connected to both a mother and father. 

It wouldn’t take more than a short burst of fiendfyre. Narcissa knew she was a strong enough caster to do it alone, despite how Andromeda had urged her to wait until her arrival tonight so she wouldn’t burn down her newly acquired asset. She removed her hand and raised her wand, sending flames toward their names. She watched the silk strings burn away, and the final record of Draco Malfoy disintegrate from existence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Again, 
> 
> I was really flattered by the prologue's positive feedback, so I decided to go ahead and post this a little earlier than I had initially been planning. I have truly been having so much fun writing this. I'm on chapter 5 now, and this twisted version of Narcissa has been delightful to work with. She's definitely still a bit of a snob, but still young and more receptive to change and redemption than her cannon version. Small Draco will be the narrator of the next chapter. Thank you sincerely to all of you who read, left kudos, and commented---You all definitely made my week. 
> 
> Stay safe out there, 
> 
> ivyeyed


	3. Draco Black

Draco Black was seven the first time he heard the word “bastard”. Aunt Andy had offered to take him to Diagon Alley for ice cream and a bit of light shopping for Dora. It was a mild August day, and Diagon Alley was packed with families getting ready for the new term. Draco watched them eagerly as he walked between Dora and his Aunt. They were arguing about which shop to visit first, and Aunt Andromeda reluctantly agreed that Dora could go ahead to Flourish and Blotts with Draco alone to cut down on the number of stops they would have to accomplish. Dora was under strict instructions to gather her books for her fifth-year curriculum before her mother’s return. Draco was allowed to wander about in the store, as long as he stayed out of the expensive rare tome sections. 

Dora had quickly become preoccupied with a magical comic book about Magizoologist chasing after a nearly extinct Dragon species. Draco had watched the colorful pictures move about the comic strip. While he often enjoyed borrowing Dora’s ample wizarding and muggle comic collection (the wizarding ones had better art, but the muggle one’s better stories), Draco was on a mission today to collect the latest in a series of magical mystery novels by Margret Porter. He wasn’t sure when he would be able to return and had scraped together enough gallons from his birthday the previous month for the next two books in the series. Draco left Dora by the stand of comic books and headed deeper into the children’s fiction section. Aunt Andromeda often gave them strict instructions to stick together when she left them alone, but Draco figured Dora’s royal blue bob would be easy to spot. 

Draco cherished these rare outings into wizarding London. Despite his Mother’s apparent disdain for the muggle community surrounding their townhouse, he spent a far superior amount of time in the local muggle parks and shops nearby. His mother had homeschooled him, as she had been herself growing up in a Pureblood family. And while Draco considered himself lucky to live in a magical home with an elf and infinite books to study in the Black Family Library, he couldn’t help but be in awe every time he passed through the Leaky Cauldron into Diagon Alley. He couldn’t get enough magic and deeply longed for the day it would be his turn to make the trip to collect his books and wand for Hogwarts. 

Out of all the stores in the Alley, Draco loved Flourish and Blotts best. He could spend all day among the shelves of books. Each new book provided him with a new perspective and more information about the magical world he was a part of. Draco located the next two books in the  _ Rugged Wizards  _ series. He pulled out his gallon purse from his jean pocket. He had snuck out of the house in Dora’s muggle hand me downs, finding them more comfortable than formal robes in the heat. The books were on sale, so if he played his cards right, he might be able to get one more book and have enough for ice cream at Florean Fortescue’s. Draco had his nose buried in a book on magical familiars when he accidentally bumped into a man in richly adorned robes, causing a stack of books to fall from his hands. Draco started to open his mouth to apologize, as his mother had taught him always to do. 

The man didn’t give him a chance and immediately sneered at him and called him “the filthy Black bastard.”

For often being clumsy, Dora appeared to his side immediately and gracefully. Draco could tell whatever the man said was unpleasant. Dora’s hair had changed to an angry red color he had only seen once before when Dora was yelling at her mother about how unfair it was that she couldn’t go to a Weird Sister’s concert with her friends from school. Dora told the man to bugger off, and he sneered at her and called her a “dirty blood traitor” before storming off, abandoning his purchases on the floor. He loudly muttered about the undesirable clientele as he pushed past all the onlookers. Draco wasn’t entirely sure what the whole altercation meant but is too embarrassed by all the yelling to ask. 

Draco gathered up the forgotten books on the floor and handed them to the apologetic shop clerk, while Dora grabbed her incomplete stack of school books and his book on magical familiars for him and paid for them at the counter. She waited behind him patiently as he counted out the proper sum for his books. When they left the shop, Dora held his hand as she used to when he was small. They arrived at the ice cream shop quickly, and at least no one appeared to be looking at them anymore. Dora paid for his sticky toffee pudding ice cream cup in addition to her own cone, despite Draco’s protests that she already bought a book for him. 

“Consider it a late birthday gift,” Dora told him, lounged in a patio chair with a pair of yellow muggle sunglasses over her eyes. 

“You already got me all that chocolate from Honeydukes,” he reminded her. Dora licked determinedly at her Chocolate Chili cone despite the spicy sprinkles. 

“You can’t let wizards like that prick get to you. He’s just a self-righteous pureblood who thinks he’s better than all us lowly folk,” Dora instructed him, punctuating her sentences with her dripping ice cream cone. 

Draco wanted to ask her what the words the man had said meant, but this has happened once before with the words “death eater,” and his questions had only made both his Mother and Aunt upset and frosty all afternoon. 

“But mother and I are purebloods too,” He told her instead. Dora dropped her sunglasses to the tip of her nose like the girls in her muggle magazine’s sometimes posed. 

“You’re the good kind, though, kid,” she told him with a big smile. 

Aunt Andromeda found them finishing off their ice cream cones and immediately reprimanded Dora for not actually getting all the books on the term’s reading list. As they walked back towards Flourish and Blotts, he watched them playfully argue about whether Dora was responsible enough for her own cat this term. He laughed with them when Andromeda told her, “I wouldn’t trust you with a toad.” 

He sometimes wished it could be this way with Mother and him. He does not doubt that Mother loved him, but he often wished that the easy smiles he shares with his Aunt and Cousin could be shared with her too. The afternoon passed quickly, and soon Andromeda was helping him floo home from the Leaky Cauldron with a promise to come over for dinner with his Mother on Sunday, so they could all give Nymphadora a proper send-off. He can hear Dora yell about her given name as he spins away in the chimney. 

Draco expected his home to be vacant as his Mother had mentioned some errands she needed to run. So, upon his arrival through the floo, he is surprised to find a man sitting in the parlor on his mother’s lavish couch. He recognized Mr. Lupin from his periodic visits to check on the property, though he now has a rather large scar on his forehead over his left eye. His mother must be in the kitchen, arranging tea for them. She never seemed to enjoy these visits and tended to keep her nose upturned and voice haughty in Mr. Lupin’s presence. Draco isn’t sure why she’s so bothered by him; Mr. Lupin always brings him a square of chocolate and a kind smile. 

“Hello Draco, I heard you were visiting Diagon Alley today with your cousin,” Draco dusted off his jeans before going over to shake Mr. Lupin’s hand. Something about this formal greeting always made Mr. Lupin chuckle. 

“Yes, Mr. Lupin, we were going to gather Dora’s books for the new term. I purchased the next two  _ Rugged Wizards  _ books with my birthday money,” He pulled away from the handshake to find a small chocolate square tucked in his palm. Draco beamed at the small treat. 

“Sounds like a pleasant afternoon; in a few years, you’ll be doing the same. I remember my first trips to Diagon Alley fondly,” Mr. Lupin often gets a faraway look when he mentions the past. It’s similar to the one mother often has too. 

Draco seated himself in the plush armchair across from the coffee table.

“It was for the most part,” Draco wrinkled his nose, remembering the angry man from the bookstore,“ There was a man in Flourish and Blotts who upset my cousin.” 

Lupin looked like he wanted to ask what happened when Narcissa returned, levitating a china tea set belonging to his grandmother behind her. 

“Oh, darling, you’re home already” Narcissa placed the tea down and kissed him softly on the forehead.

“Why don’t you run along and change into some proper robes for dinner. Kreature is making one of your favorites, venison stew.” 

Draco knew better than to disobey his mother in front of anyone who is not family and quickly scurried from the room. Draco decided to linger in the hallway to eavesdrop, and he can hear Mother scold Mr. Lupin about how these visits could be done through firecalls and not waste either of their time. He can hear Mr. Lupin bit back something about how much he would miss her pleasant discourse and bitter tea. Draco laughed into his shirt sleeve to muffle the sound. Mr. Lupin is the only one who would dare speak to mother like that. 

Draco changed for dinner and combed his hair so that it looked respectful post floo ride. He took his new  _ Rugged Wizard  _ volume and hid out in the foyer under Aunt Walburga’s portrait so he could catch Mr. Lupin on his way out. Mr. Lupin muttered under his breath about his mother when he entered the foyer. Draco believed there are probably few people that rile up the normally composed wizard as much as his Mother does. 

“You could stay for the stew, if you would like,” Draco offered while knowing that the answer will be no. 

“I think your mother wishes to be rid of me for another few months,” Mr. Lupin replied. He gathered his cloak from the coat rack quietly so as not to wake the dozing portrait. Draco silently thought it’s for the best, as the aging Kreature’s meals have slowly turned from delectable to occasionally inedible in recent months. 

“Mr. Lupin, can I ask you something?” Draco asked him with some hesitation. 

“Of course, Draco. What can I help with?” Lupin told him as he buttoned his cloak. 

Draco inhaled a big breath to get the words out quickly before he lost courage. 

“What does ‘bastard’ mean?” Mr. Lupin looked a little shocked by the frame of questioning. He sat down next to Draco under the portrait. His legs are much too long for the cramped hall, but he doesn’t complain. 

“The angry fellow from Flourish and Blotts called you that today?” Mr. Lupin had always been perceptive, a quality that Draco has come to respect. 

“I would have asked mother, but I don’t want to upset her,” Draco told him quietly. Mr. Lupin paused for a moment. 

“Sometimes, those who see themselves as above us try to use our station in life to degrade us. Their words only hold power if you let them.” 

Draco nodded. He’s heard Aunt Walburga call Mr. Lupin a half-breed on many occasions, though Draco is unsure why. 

“A bastard is someone with an unmarried mother who is born out of wedlock. Some in wizarding and muggle society may find this distasteful,” Lupin continued. Draco felt tears burning in the corner of his eyes. 

“What that man doesn’t know, Draco. Is that you have a mother and a family that loves you and would do anything to protect you. And that you are a wonderful young wizard with so much to offer this world. Whether or not you have a father is irrelevant. Never forget that.” Mr. Lupin squeezed his shoulder. They sat in silence for a few moments. Draco quietly wondered if this is what it would be like to have a father of his own.

“You know I used to read those as a boy,” Mr. Lupin gestured to the book in his hands, “I believe I have most of the entire series in my mother’s attic if you’d like them?” 

Draco smiled at him and barely remembered to keep his voice down not to wake the portrait. 

“That would be extraordinary. Thank you so much!”

“You’ll have to owl me when you finish  _ The Great Quidditch Locker Mystery _ ,” Mr. Lupin informed him, charming a small scrap of paper from his pocket with his address, “I can come by with the next few, and we can discuss the ending of that one,” he concluded, standing back up and handing him the paper. Draco returned to his feet and smelled the venison stew wafting down the hallway; perhaps it will be an edible dinner tonight. 

Mr. Lupin offered Draco his hand in farewell. Draco’s entire body darted toward the older man, and he wrapped his arms tightly around his middle. Draco could feel his whole face turn red in embarrassment from his initiation of such a familiar embrace, but Mr. Lupin just chuckled and tousled his hair affectionately. 

Draco watched him go down the drive before disappearing into the evening air. He then headed inside to the dining room past his mother, hidden from view by the curtains surrounding the front-drive window. Draco had missed his mother’s presence entirely, as she had quietly stood obscured by the velvet fabric listening to their exchange. Narcissa watched as Lupin left and, for the first time, felt a level of respect for their reluctant landlord. She came to the unfortunate realization that perhaps she could not end these tea time inspections anytime soon for Draco's sake. At least until he finished that blasted book series of which she was fairly certain there are roughly a hundred volumes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, 
> 
> Thank you so much to those who left a comment or kudos on the previous chapter. I really appreciate all the feedback and enthusiasm for this little story. I'm back to work tonight through the weekend, so I thought I'd post this before returning. Chapter four should be edited and posted on Monday or Tuesday of next week. We'll be back to Narcissa's narration as Draco readies himself for his first year at Hogwarts. I wish everyone a safe and hopefully happier 2021. 
> 
> Best Wishes, 
> 
> ivyeyed


	4. Narcissa Black

Narcissa flicked her wand and expelled all the dust from her old school trunk. The metal engraving with her surname is tarnished, but otherwise, the trunk is in fairly good condition. She levitated the black box carefully down from the attic into Draco’s room. Narcissa looked around her son’s childhood bedroom fondly. His bookshelves are nearly overflowing with various books, both muggle and magical. He meticulously lined his chest of drawers with photos of his family over the years. Narcissa glanced at the eleven years of birthdays, Christmases, and holiday trips and felt warmth at the evidence of her son’s happy childhood. Draco is out with Andromeda, and she is expecting him back soon for dinner. It scarcely feels like enough time has passed since they first stepped into this house, that she will have to now watch her son leave on the bright red engine of her youth. She can see the fine lines around her eyes and the luster slowly going out of her hair. She was a young mother, as many were during the war, but the passage of time is becoming clearer each time she catches her reflection. 

She had been mulling over the decision of Draco’s schooling for years now. There is a selfish part of her that wanted a private tutor to keep her only child securely in the walls of the townhouse until he was of age. Her son had wanted Hogwarts since Dora had first taken the train at eleven. She had watched her only child’s eyes grow large and bright at the stories of his cousin’s adventures.

She would have preferred Drumstrang, as the distance would help to alleviate certain rumors. She would have preferred being able to afford new textbooks and a new trunk. She would have preferred the best for her only son. She would have preferred many things over the years. He deserved more than her careful budgeting to stretch the Black vaults until he was of age. She didn’t regret leaving the cold manor, the claws of her in-laws, and the unpleasantness of the war, but she regretted the life that Draco could have had in which he wanted for nothing. He seemed like a happy enough child, though, in the pictures. He loved his cousin, Aunt, and Uncle, very dearly. She eyed the sole photo of Draco and Lupin at a Quidditch match together last spring. Dora must have taken the photo as she was supposed to be his escort. Narcissa was only made aware of Lupin's involvement after the match's conclusion. 

Her son’s strange familial attachment to their landlord confused her to no end. Narcissa had spent countless nights venting her concerns to Andy. Andromeda had reassured her that it was not unusual for a fatherless child to seek a surrogate father figure. In the beginning, when Lupin would pop around seeking the status of the property and that the monthly deposits were being given to the Potter boy’s account, Narcissa had used all her Pureblood charms to try and dissuade his continued presence. It appeared that as Draco had formed some sort of attachment to the shabbily dressed man, he, in turn, had also found a kinship with her son. Narcissa wouldn’t understand it, but it brought a smile to her boy’s face, and like so many of his varied interests, she let it slide with careful observation. 

Narcissa had watched them together on many instances and often contemplated if this is what Draco would have looked like with Lucius. A dark part of her soul told her that their shared comradery would not have extended to his actual father. Lucius was proud, regal, and prided his lineage above all else. Lupin was warm, friendly, and genuinely seemed interested in Draco’s passing interests. Most recently, they had been reading and discussing muggle Arthurian legends and their depictions of Merlin. Before that, it had been reading muggle mythology, and before that, they had taken a deep dive into the muggle sport ‘football’. Draco’s mind jumped to new interests nearly every week, and Lupin’s seemed to work similarly. Narcissa knew she had made the correct choice in walking out of the manor all those years ago. Her son had been kept out of the reach of the dark lord her husband had so fervently believed in. He would never be the head of the great house, but she firmly believed he was happy despite the more humble upbringing. She hated that even now, all these years later, she was still plagued by constant doubts. 

She heard a clattering in the parlor and the squawking sounds of what she thought was a bird. Narcissa left Draco’s room and made her way downstairs. 

“Please don’t be cross, mother,” Draco said upon her appearance in the room. Her son sat on the floor with a small great horned owl sitting in front of him, eagerly stealing treats from his open hand. Narcissa frowned at the majestic and expensive bird. 

“I thought we had agreed that you would use the school owls for the first term,” she asked him. Her son looked sheepish. 

“Dora and I ran into Remus in the Alley, and he offered to purchase Pendragon for me, as a present for my first term,” This made Narcissa frown deeper as she knew the foolish man did not have the spare gallons for such a beast. Certainly, if he did, he could afford robes that didn’t have patches on the elbows. 

“He called to me, Mother. All the books say that familiar bonds should not be ignored,” Draco looked desperately at the young bird in front of him. 

Narcissa felt spiteful that the man had bought her son something she should have provided him with on his eleventh birthday as was custom. She had received her calico cat, Perdita, on her eleventh birthday from her father. Andromeda had picked out a charming pygmy owl and Bellatrix, a rather feral tabby that used to bite at all their ankles. 

“We will have to write Mr. Lupin to thank him for her generosity,” She said after some thought. Draco looked at her brightly then.

“Dora and I invited him to Aunt Andy’s for dinner to see me off on Sunday. So you can thank him in person then, Mother,” Draco told her, coaxing the owl back into the cage with another treat.

“Not so many treats Draco, you’ll make him sick if you’re not careful,” Narcissa told him, purposely ignoring the last piece of information. At least Draco’s start of the term would cease Lupin’s frequent visits. 

“Come Draco; I’ve retrieved my old trunk. It would be best if you began packing; we have some things to discuss,” Narcissa led him up to his room and sat on the edge of his bed. Draco carefully set his new familiar on the bedside table and excitedly examined her old trunk, tracing over the Black family name on the front with reverence. 

“There are some things that would be prudent to discuss before your sorting,” Narcissa chose her words carefully. 

“Is there a house, in particular, you were hoping for?” Draco was quiet, and she was sure he had thought the matter over for himself several times. 

“Dora was Hufflepuff, and she seemed to have so many friends. Remus was a Gryffindor, and he seemed to have adventures every term. Perhaps one of them,” Draco decided after some thought. Narcissa sighed as this was what she expected. 

“There is a chance because of your family line that the hat may favor Slytherin,” Narcissa informed him. She could certainly see it in him, too, with his cunning and budding ambitions. Draco frowned at this, not finding the idea appealing. Narcissa knew he was unfond of snakes. 

“It may be prudent to ask the hat for a more neutral placement,” She continued. 

“You have a say in it?” Draco seemed confused. 

“The hat to my understanding takes your feelings into account, and should you feel unsafe in Slytherin or Gryffindor, it may be swayed toward a more agreeable house,” she concluded. Narcissa and Andromeda had spent one hot summer evening on her sister’s patio drinking wine, and Andromeda had confided in her that the Hat had wanted her for Gryffindor, and she had begged it for Slytherin so as not to upset their Father. 

“Why would Gryffindor be unsafe?” he asked expression sullen. Lucius would be rolling in his grave, she thought with some amusement. 

“The Black family name has certain prejudices attached to it, and it may be wise to seek a house that could more easily look past them if you wish to make friends easily.” 

She knew Draco would do anything at the promise of friendship. She wished Dora would be there with him for this first year. Draco had always wanted friends his own age, and the prospect of the friends he had dreamed of his entire lonely childhood should be enough to sway him. She hoped children had softened in their prejudices since her youth. 

“I’ll do my best, Mother,” Draco said with firm resolve.

“Good Love, now try to pack more than just books,” Narcissa told him, glancing at the stacks he had already placed on his desk. 

“Of course, Mother,” he said with a smirk and a tone she did not fully believe. 

Draco’s final week home went far too quickly for Narcissa’s liking, and she soon found herself preparing for dinner at her sister’s home. She appraised her wardrobe with some trepidation. Normally she’d wear one of the silk blouses Andy had gifted her over the years and perhaps some slacks since Andromeda and Ted kept a rather informal home. Still, she was uncertain of looking too casual if Draco’s guest made an appearance. She settled on some summer robes that she supposed looked close enough to the sundresses she had seen muggle women her age wear out to the park. The material was a sheer green with hand-stitched embroidered flowers throughout. She put on some modest jewels and asked Kreature to fetch a bottle of Elvish wine; regardless of the unwanted company, it was a special occasion. Kreature had tearfully handed her the bottle. The elf had been an emotional wreck at his young master’s departure. He had been leaving rather rock hard cookies under Draco’s pillow all week. Draco was waiting, within the drawing-room, his leg bouncing up and down in excitement. He was in a shirt that had once belonged to his cousin, and a pair of jeans Narcissa was fairly certain belonged to Ted twenty years ago. 

“You could have made more of an effort, darling, or worn your new trousers I got you to bring to school,” She caught him rolling his eyes at her words, and she frowned. 

“It’s only Aunt Andy’s mother. I would be far overdressed,” He replied, eyeing her own clothes with quiet judgment. Narcissa frowned as she started to watch her child morph from an adoring adolescent to the moody teenager he would inevitably become. 

“Let us not keep her waiting then,” She gestured to the fire. She watched as Draco purposefully slouched his shoulders and entered the flames. She rolled her own eyes after he disappeared from view. When she enters the fireplace herself, she hopes momentarily that Lupin will not show up for what is clearly a private family event. She is immediately disappointed upon hearing his voice, calling for Draco before she can even exit the fireplace. Andromeda swept her into a hug and kissed both of her cheeks in greeting after she has dusted off the expensive material of her dress. 

“You look well, Cissa. I love this hue on you. Hard to believe your boy is already leaving for Hogwarts.” Andromeda tells her while holding a glass of amber liquid that Narcissa assumes is one of Ted’s homemade brews. 

“I know these last few weeks have flown by,” Narcissa agrees while squeezing her sister’s free hand. She chances a look at Lupin over Andromeda’s shoulder. It seems unfair to her, besides his ever-present scars, that he appears to be aging much slower than herself. His skin still has a youthful glow, and she watches her niece twirl a lock of bubblegum hair around her finger, unable to take her eyes off of him. 

“Cissy, you remember, Remus?” Andromeda asks, leading her over to the small group of three. Narcissa wants to unleash a sharp retort, that she could never forget the man holding the deed to the last ancestral home of Black. Instead, she smiles politely though she knows there is some ice to it. 

“Narcissa, you must be excited about Draco’s impending departure,” he replies neutrally. 

“I fear not as excited as Draco himself. He informed me that you were to thank for his new familiar,” the ice definitely corrupts her smile and leaks into her speech.

“Oh Aunt Cissa, it was incredibly kind of Remus to buy Pendragon for Draco. I was several gallons short, but the little bird was already so attached to Draco,” Nymphadora interjects. Narcissa has seen young infatuation on many faces, but it’s disconcerting seeing it on her niece’s, and she finds she does not like this particular look on Nymphadora. 

“Indeed, thank you for my son’s new familiar. I will have to arrange payment to be transferred to you,” She means for there to be no further discussion about the little bird now living in her owl rafters, but Remus firmly interjects. 

“It was my pleasure Narcissa. And perhaps a bit selfish on my part to want to keep up my correspondence with Draco during his first term,” Lupin informs her.

Draco looks delighted at this, which makes Narcissa only feel worse. Ted burst into the den from the cramped kitchen and handed Lupin his own glass of beer. 

“Dinner is served on the Patio,” Ted interjects, coming over and kissing her cheek. He is wearing some silly muggle apron with a crab on it. 

They all make their way out to the patio and the garden table set up with all of Draco’s favorites. Narcissa sits sandwiched between her sister and brother-in-law and magically uncorks the bottle of wine she’s holding. She doesn’t typically trust Ted’s homebrew experiments, but everyone else seems to be enjoying the ale. She finds herself slowly polishing off the expensive bottle of wine as the garden is filled with boisterous laughter. She has never seen her son smile as much as he does that night. It’s easy for Narcissa to fall back and be drowned by all the merriment that surrounds her. Andromeda and Ted know Remus from their days in the Order during the first war. They embrace him as an old friend, and Narcissa suddenly feels alienated from what’s left of her family. After dinner, Ted brings out some big dessert that he sets ablaze with his wand too much clapping and cheers. Narcissa quietly excuses herself through the garden to the little garage she once shared with the boy who will be leaving her tomorrow. 

The shed had barely changed in the last ten years. She found Ted’s cigarettes hidden in the toolbox where they always are. She pocketed a few for the way home from King’s Cross tomorrow and, with shaking hands, lights one in the darkness of the garage. She and Ted had first bonded over the dirty muggle habit. He would spend late nights keeping her company when Draco was first born, and she’d find herself awake at all hours. Narcissa took a long drag and enjoyed the quiet breeze from the cracked window. She can see Lupin come up behind her in the moonlit reflection on the glass and silently offers him the pack. Lupin shook his head, “no.” She can feel his judgment over the unhealthy habit. 

“I wanted to apologize if my showing up here caused you any distress,” He told her rather diplomatically. Narcissa took another long drag of the cigarette. She kept her gaze stubbornly out the window at the quarter moon and her back to him. 

“No more distress than him coming home with that familiar. It’s much too lavish a gift from the man that holds the deed to our home,” she replied, the words slipping through the careful filter she keeps around him. Perhaps she had one too many goblets of wine at dinner. 

“I didn’t mean to overstep. Draco has turned into a fine young man. I see a bit of myself in him and was only looking to help,” Lupin looks abashed at least, but Narcissa lets out a cool chuckle regardless. 

“Yes, you must have so much in common with my fatherless son. I hear what they say about us in the street still all these years later, what they say about me. I can’t expect the world will look too favorably upon my boy. And correct me if I’m wrong, Lupin, but what I recall of your youth was that you were accepted and loved by your peers. I don’t envision the same for Draco,” she tells him with malice. 

She knew she was callous and cruel. She hoped it’s enough spite that he’ll leave and return to the dinner. Instead, the same soft voice she remembered in the drawing-room all those years ago speaks out to her. 

“Give the world a chance, Narcissa. I won’t promise you that he will face no prejudice for who he is or how he came about. There are allies around him. He has people who will stand up for him, myself included,” Narcissa deflates at his words and looks back at his face in the moonlight. 

“He adores you. You have to know that, maybe even more than me, at least some of the time,” she told him. Her most painful insecurity bared for him to see. The cigarette burns down close to her fingers, and she can feel the heat. 

“I’ve never tried to be more to him than you, Narcissa. Draco’s trust has done more for me than I think you’ll ever understand,” he tells her gravely. Narcissa looked back to the window and put her shaking hand to her lips for one final puff of smoke. She doesn’t know what else to say to him.

This is a line of familiarity and hurt that they have never crossed. She still was wary of Lupin and his motives, but she’s finding it harder to distrust him when he looks at her so earnestly. So she squared her shoulders back and transformed again into a frigid pureblood and prepares to rejoin her son in the garden. She drops the cigarette on the concrete floor and puts it out with the sole of her high heeled boot.

“Thank you for the owl. He loves it and is reassured he’ll be able to correspond with us all,” her voice is gravely from the cigarette as she walked by him. 

“I wouldn’t have been able to afford such a familiar for him, so thank you,” It must certainly be the wine that made her offer up that parting thought. He looks at her in a way she has never cataloged before, but she isn’t brave enough to keep eye contact. Instead, she walks away from him, leaving him in a cloud of smoke and old memories of easier days. A weight in her chest begins to form as he follows her at a safe distance, not to arouse questions. 

The weight remained all through the party and all through watching Draco board the red engine for the first time the next day. She can feel the heaviness as she stews in her home, blending in with the darkness that creeps in now that she is alone for the first time in years. She felt the weight in her whole body as she opened her son’s first letter from Hogwarts under the watchful eyes of Pendragon. As she read his blocky script with shaking hands, she wished that she had pocketed the entire carton of cigarettes. She skips down to the word “Ravenclaw” and breathes a sigh of relief. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, 
> 
> Nightshift life has been slow this weekend, so here's a fun little late-night update. Wine goblet holding Narcissa makes her first appearance and has quickly become my favorite Narcissa to write. She will appear again in a few chapters. Thank you for all the kudos and love for the previous chapter, I'm glad to see people enjoying this as I'm genuinely enjoying composing this little au. Hope everyone has a lovely week.   
> I will probably update again midweek. For anyone who tumbles I have sort of a side mood board blog for this story linked in my profile. 
> 
> Best,  
> Ivyeyed


	5. Draco Black

Draco had expected more from Hogwarts after how much time Dora had spent sharing stories of the castle. There were no great adventures or lifelong friends. He loved the castle itself and expanding his magical skills, but Hogwarts wasn’t immediately a second home to him like it was for many of his classmates.

Draco’s mother had been wrong to a certain extent too. The older pureblood Slytherin students seemed to care about his paterfamilias and his mother’s past ‘indecencies’ among the pureblood elite only when he happened to block their path in a corridor or ended up trapped on an enchanted staircase with one of them. Corentin Malfoy was a Slytherin a year older than him and perhaps gave him the greatest trouble, often going out of his way to call him unsavory names. 

The younger Slytherins seemed unaware of lineage or perhaps not yet at an age where their parents’ opinions were firmly their own. Theodore Nott often elected to be his partner in classes that Slytherin and Ravenclaw shared. If he knew his bastard status, he didn’t seem to care as long as Draco did his half of the work and didn’t mind checking over Thoe’s portion for errors. 

Theo was maybe the closest thing that Draco had to a friend. Ravenclaw had never been historically the most social, and Draco had grown up in relative isolation. It was easier to fall into his habits from home then go out of his way to make possible acquaintances. He ate alone and spent many hours in the library surrounded by the stacks. He seemed to lack the natural easy flair for school work that his housemates had. He often put in extra hours to keep his marks competitive. Throughout the first two years, he always seemed to be second or third in their class, which he was proud of. 

All the time alone in the library had slowly given him a reputation of being brooding and solum. His classmates seemed to prefer to leave him alone all together now. Sometimes the first-year Luna Lovegood joined his table tucked among the shelves. She was the only one who seemed unafraid to speak to him and looked him in the eye, and for that, she had his respect. He often stepped in when older students would try to steal and hide her belongings. Earning him even more notoriety for being occasionally combative. 

Draco had tried to make the best of his house over the first two years. Despite any whispered rumors about him, he had a relatively neutral presence he was sure his mother would be proud of and no real enemies to speak of. No real friends either, but he supposed you couldn’t have one without the other. His mother sent him sweets more than any other parent in his year. And Pendragon was kept busy keeping up with his letters to Aunt Andy and Uncle Ted, Dora, and Remus. More often than not, during those first two years, he had found his eyes glancing to the Gryffindor table over his stack of letters and boxes of treats to the warm smiles and easy camaraderie of the Golden Trio. He would often watch them together, and deep down, that was the type of friendship Draco longed to be a part of. 

On the day of his sorting, he had hoped he and Potter may become friends. They had both been towards the end of the queue for the Great Hall. Draco had noticed how nervous the bespectacled boy had looked and had repeated his mother’s words about the Sorting Hat, considering your choice. They had shared a smile, and Potter had looked calmer. Draco had thought that perhaps this was the start of a friendship he had yearned for his entire childhood. Both of the boy’s sortings had taken about the same amount of time. Draco had spent five minutes convincing that Hat that Slytherin or Gryffindor was simply a bad idea. The Hat insisted that Slytherin would put him closer to his lineage and that Gryffindor might better suit his heart. Draco had argued the pros of a fresh start, and this display of logic had solidified the Hat’s final concession of Ravenclaw. Draco had watched Potter’s sorting hoping perhaps the boy would be seated across from him at his new house’s table. Disappointment had sunk in as the Sorting Hat shouted out “Gryffindor,” and Draco was left with regret that he fought so hard against that option for himself. 

There was a point in his second year that he had thought the same about Granger. On one occasion, he helped her locate and grab a heavy book on magical beasts from a high shelf. She had blushed prettily and thanked him for his assistance. Draco found himself admiring her drive when she passionately explained how she was researching magical beasts for an outside project.

Draco quietly wondered why she couldn’t have ended up in Ravenclaw sharing a table with him and Luna in the library. He had admired her work ethic and intelligence from a distance. She certainly would have been a better Ravenclaw than he was. He had shyly asked if she wouldn’t mind sharing the results of her project when completed. And for a second time in his second year, he had thought momentarily that he had maybe succeeded in rendering a friendship. Granger was petrified a week later. He left her a card and some Honeydukes chocolate his mother had sent him on her beside. When she had awoken, he thought foolishly that maybe they would speak again. But Darco was left glancing at the happy faces of the trio from across the hall during the end-of-year feast and realizing that he would never hold a place in their adventures and easy laughter. 

He had shared a train car home with Luna and wished her a pleasant break. His mother had clutched him tightly on the platform, perhaps harder than when he left home for the first time. She cupped his face between her hands and stared at him with their shared eyes. He had shrugged out of her embrace red-faced as the twin Weasly brothers walked by them snickering. His mother had clutched him by the hand tightly and then had apparated straight home to number twelve instead of to their usual lunch at the Leaky Cauldron post-term. 

That summer brought about changes in Narcissa that left Draco puzzled. She had begun to keep meticulous stacks of the daily prophet at her desk in the library. Draco had snooped once and realized they were dated on the same day as the first petrification. She had barred him from going to Diagon Alley alone with Dora even though she was halfway through her Auror program and more than capable of looking out for a teenager. When news of Sirius Black’s escape was plastered on the Daily Prophet’s front page, Narcissa barely slept and ate very little. 

More oddly, Remus appeared every day for a week as they worked through how to change the wards on the home that did not explicitly keep him out. Draco wasn’t surprised by her concern as this was the escaped convict’s childhood home. He was wearier about how relieved his mother appeared whenever Remus showed up on their stoop and how utterly lost she looked when he would leave for the night. Narcissa had never depended on anyone for anything, and it left Draco taken aback to see her so vulnerable. Remus seemed unchanged at the news, and that offered Draco some comfort. Maybe Mother’s sudden worries were unfounded.

Draco worked up the courage to ask her about her cousin a month before starting his third year. They were sitting in the kitchen, and the daily prophet’s latest issue was clutched in her hands. The headline claimed Balck had been spotted outside of London. Draco had no doubt mother would be fiddling with the wards all morning while she pretended to clean up around the townhouse. He cleared his throat over his porridge. 

“You don’t look much like him,” he said, gesturing to the mugshot that was reprinted on most front pages lately. Narcissa looked grim and folded up the paper, hiding the picture from sight. 

“I don’t suppose either of us took after the Black family looks. My sisters and cousins all favored the dark coloring. We take after my Grandmother Irma and I suppose are all the luckier considering the current circumstances,” Narcissa informed him and resumed picking at her breakfast. Draco was familiar with her tone of voice, indicating the conversation was finished. Still, he wanted answers, and Dora didn’t seem to know anything more than he did about this murderous second cousin. 

“I didn’t see his name on the tapestry upstairs. It’s missing along with your’s and Aunt Andy’s. I thought Aunt Walburga blew off only those who didn’t side with you-know-who,” Draco asked. It had long bothered him that despite clearly favoring you-know-who during the war his Great-Aunt had blasted his name away from the tapestry. It made him feel like perhaps Sirius Black was, in fact, similar to his mother and Aunt Andy after all. 

“To my knowledge, Sirius was caught up in the resistance efforts against the Dark Lord. I did not know him well during his final years free, but his initial allegiances led to his disownment,” Narcissa replied primly. 

He and his mother had never personally spoken about the Black family tapestry upstairs. Draco was clever enough to realize that most of the names missing were either dead or avoided, an Azkaban sentence at the end of the war by choosing the right side. Draco was always quietly proud that his family seemed to have escaped the large collection of infamous dark wizards and witches written in golden silk. No matter what anyone else thought about the Black family, it was almost like he and his mother, along with Aunt Andromeda and Dora, were removed from it. 

“So you don’t think he’ll show up here when I leave to return to school?” Draco cautiously asked. 

“Lupin has assured me that he has been able to use a tricky bit of magic to keep Black out. For now, Draco, you have nothing to fear,” Narcissa said. She must have noticed his nervousness because she softened her brisk tone and took his hand across the table. 

“Maybe Remus could check in on you more often. I don’t like the idea of you by yourself here alone,” Draco told her. Narcissa looked less pleased with this suggestion. 

“I believe you, thankfully, will be seeing far more of Lupin than I will over the coming year,” she informed him vaguely. Draco wanted to ask what she met, but Narcissa spoke of him so frostily that Draco knew better than to broach the subject. 

“You’re Aunt has shared a similar concern and, despite the ward improvements, has remained undeterred in her efforts to concoct a contingency plan,” Narcissa motioned to the jewel fashioned around her neck. 

“Ted has recently taken up a new hobby of creating portkeys for his own enjoyment, and she personally dropped off this gaudy piece with the instruction to simply hold the stone for a direct trip to their potting shed,” Narcissa explained to him. 

“I read that it was illegal to create non-ministry sanctioned portkeys,” Draco mumbled into his juice. 

“Clearly, the law has yet to stop certain members of this family,” His mother said with only mild disdain.

“It’s important this year, Draco, that you keep your head down and stay on the grounds at all times,” Draco nodded absentmindedly as mother tended to tell him this upon his departure every year. He began to clear the table before Kreature could barge in and begin shattering plates everywhere in an attempt to do the washing up. 

“I understand that third years are typically allowed to enter Hogsmeade with parental permission,” Narcissa broached the subject carefully, and Draco had an ill feeling that perhaps the permission slip that had come with his school letter this summer would remain unsigned. 

“Everyone else will be able to go accept me,” he told her gravely. His mother joined him at the sink and stroked his dark blonde hair away from his forehead.

“My darling, it would only be until they catch him. I’ll send it promptly upon his arrest. Sirius Black is unhinged, and I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you because of some grudge against me,” Narcissa said soothingly. Draco was becoming more aware of when his mother might manipulate a situation to her favor the older he got. He brushed away her hand and scowled into his reflection on his breakfast plate.

“And what grudge could he possibly have against you, mother?” Draco snarled before stomping out of the room. He heard Narcissa call after him as he clamored up the stairs to his bedroom. This would just be another part of Hogwarts he would miss out on. He would be forced to sit at his house table while his classmates all bragged about the fun and treats they had bought in the village. Dora had long entertained him with Zonko’s Joke shop’s stories, and he had looked forward to seeing Honeydukes in person. 

Draco had been saving up all his gallons since last Christmas so that he might try a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks. Mother had always been so protective of him, like some sort of monster was waiting around every corner or in every shadow. Despite what she seemed to think about their family reputation Draco had already learned that being a Black meant little to his schoolmates and even less to the general public. Draco Black was no one of significance or grandeur. 

Draco’s anger waned as the month continued and had mostly dissipated enough to hug his mother and kiss her on the cheek before boarding the train. He figured that by next year he would at least be able to visit the town with Luna. He’d have even more gallons from the next Christmas and his birthday in July that he'd be able to drink all the butterbeer he could stomach. The train seemed especially crowded this year, and Draco spied into each compartment looking for a familiar face. He nodded to Theo as he passed him and a group of Slytherins in their year. 

To his utter surprise, he stopped in front of a compartment holding a very familiar form with his long legs spread out in front of him, and his patched brown cloak pulled up to his chin. 

“What are you doing here, Remus?” Draco exclaimed throwing open the door. He tried to taper down his excitement but can feel the smile threatening to burst onto his face. Remus cracks open his eyes at the sound of his voice and grins back at him.

“I thought it might be a pleasant surprise after the summer you’ve had, but I’ve accepted an open post at the school,” Remus stood and offered Draco a friendly pat on the shoulder. Draco’s head is almost up to his chin now, and he’s closer to adulthood than adolescence, but his arms shoot out and wrap his old friend in a hug. Remus pats him on the back and chuckles at his enthusiasm. 

“You’ll have to call me Professor from now on, at least around the other students,” Draco can’t wipe the smile off his face as they sit down and catch up. Finally, he’ll have a true friend at Hogwarts. No wonder mother seemed especially sour the last few weeks of the break. Mother never prefers when they spend time together, but Draco can’t bring himself to care. He sees the golden trio make their way by his compartment and catches the curious eyes of Granger through the glass. For once, he is the one being studied from afar, and that brings him more joy than it should. The three of them settle in the compartment across from theirs. Draco openly laughs and talks quidditch and does all the things he should have been doing for the past two years with his peers. It’s the best he’s felt all summer, until the fog rolls in outside the train windows and with it an iciness that takes ahold of his heart, and suddenly Draco feels that he may never be happy again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, 
> 
> I'm not going to lie; I'm not sure I've ever written anything as quickly as I'm currently writing this little story. I just finished chapter 8 tonight. I can't promise updates will always be this frequent, but I figure why not while I have the momentum. This is the final sort of world-building chapter, and then we'll be spending the next 5 or 6 chapters in year three. I am not planning to explicitly rewrite the whole series, just sort of following Draco and Narcissa through the landscape of this alternate plane they're in and hitting the major beats and changes. Please head the explicit rating in the next chapter (don't get too excited though, I'm a bit of a slow burn girl at heart). We'll be back with Narcissa and how she is coping at Number 12 with the dementor attack on the train. As always, I love reading your comments and responding to them. And appreciate the kudos as they brighten my day. 
> 
> Best, 
> 
> ivyeyed


	6. Narcissa Black

Narcissa was furious. 

She paced the long second story hallway of the townhouse, the wide legs of her trousers whipping around her wildly while gripping the first letter of the term from her son. She had expected to read about his train ride and the welcome feast. Perhaps she would have been subjected to a letter detailing his excitement over his new professor. When Lupin had first informed her of the news, Narcissa hadn’t been ecstatic that he would now be seeing her son more frequently than she would. 

Andromeda had done her best to convince her of the benefits of Draco having a positive male role model. Andy had even joked that at least it wasn’t Ted. Narcissa would have silently preferred the cigarette smoking muggle car enthusiast even with his occasionally sketchy hobbies. She was ashamed to admit that she continued to be jealous of Lupin and Draco’s relationship. Draco was getting older and wanting to spend less of his free time with his mother. Draco’s conversations with Lupin still seemed to flow easily. While Narcissa found when she tried to do the same, it often led to him stomping up to his room to sulk. 

Narcissa glanced back down at the letter frowning deeply. Dementors on the Hogwarts Express, though, was not what she had been expecting. 

What was the headmaster thinking? Narcissa had been close to keeping Draco home this term between the whispers she heard about his first year and the literal Basilisk running free in the pipes last year. Then Sirius Black had escaped, and Narcissa had spent months trying to make sure the family wards of the house wouldn’t suddenly welcome back the true owner of Number 12 Grimmauld place. Narcissa didn’t imagine that Sirius would be thrilled to find his pale-haired cousin had tossed out all his old leather jackets in his absence. Lupin had assured her that he had figured out some loophole with the wards, but Narcissa had been continually on edge. 

She walked determinedly to her desk in the library, penning two separate letters. She instructed Pendragon in which order to deliver them and watched the bird fly into the late afternoon light. She couldn’t be the only one who thought that the events of the past three years seemed to be moving from a bit of bad luck to a perhaps a more sinister pattern. She glanced down at her son’s letter again. 

Draco said he was fine. He said he had felt cold and sad but that the Potter boy had fared much worse, passing out on the floor of his train car. He said that Lupin had valiantly fought them using a full Corporeal Patronus. He seemed quite impressed with its wolf form. Draco reported that Lupin had instructed him to stay with Potter while he had inspected the rest of the train. Most concerning to Narcissa was that Lupin had asked for his assistance in handing out chocolate to the shellshocked students. Draco was proud, and that worried Narcissa to no end. Pride and arrogance was the downfall of his father. 

It wasn’t like Draco to get involved. She had only learned about the event of his first two years either from his Head of House or the pages of the Daily Prophet. Up until now, Draco seemed to head her advice and stay far away from the whisperings of Dark Magic. This time though, he had been directly in the crossfires. She hated feeling like all her constant worries were valid. 

Narcissa moved down to the drawing-room and asked Kreature to bring her a bottle of red elven wine from the cellar. Kreature asked if his mistress would require dinner, and Narcissa had snipped at him that the bottle would be enough for tonight. She sat in the parlor stewing as the darkness descended and Kreature crept around her loudly, attempting to light the candles to offer some light. She was a quarter through the bottle when the flames in her fireplace turned from red to green. She glanced at the clock on the mantle and frowned. He was late; her letter had specifically dictated nine sharp. She clearly was a very busy woman who had planned to finish this bottle of wine and then take a bath before retiring. 

Lupin had cut his hair, shaved, and perhaps had bought a new robe. It was still drab color and ill-fitting but looked like the tweed things that Ted sometimes wore. He looked more tired than she felt and displeased at being summoned to her home from Scotland. She gestured with her wine glass to the loveseat he usually occupied when they had their occasional check-ins. 

“Narcissa, a pleasure as always,” he informed her, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Kreature eagerly popped into the room to see if he could procure anything for his mistress’s guest. Upon seeing the guest’s identity, he immediately disappeared, muttering obscenities under his breath. 

“And Kreature is still a delight, as well. I have to say I was surprised by your cordial invite this afternoon,” Lupin told her as he levitated over the whiskey decanter and a glass from the bar cart.

“Take pity on the elf, Lupin. He’s practically in retirement. I’m sure my Aunt would have dispatched him by now,” Narcissa told him sharply, realizing that her usual polite walls had crumbled over the course of the afternoon.

“Ah yes, whatever did you do with the rest of her grotesque collection? I assume you moved them to a place of importance, perhaps the master bedroom,” Lupin asked her as he tipped the decanter, filling his glass with a heavy poor of the fire whiskey. Narcissa mirrored his actions with the rest of the crystal wine bottle. 

“I donated them to a children’s home; someone had to appreciate her eye for detail,” She snarked back. He coughed while sipping his drink, and she thought she spied a small smile hidden behind the glass. Sometimes she thought he actually enjoyed her barbs. She told herself any enjoyment she felt was from talking to another adult that was not her sister or brother-in-law. 

“I’m assuming that there is, in fact, not a problem with the wards and that you received a letter from your son about his exciting start to the term and wished to blame me for my involvement,” he told her. She disliked how well he had become at deflecting ire over the years. 

“Yet, you came anyway. I’m beginning to suspect you're a bit of a masochist, always showing up on my doorstep with new scars,” she bit back. The way he frowned at her words made her worry she had gone too far this time. He seemed to be able to no longer look at her. She gulped her wine to fill the silence. 

“He’s fine, Narcissa, maybe even fared better than most of his classmates,” Lupin told her with all seriousness. 

“You let him help you. You let him get involved with adult matters,” she accused. 

“I hardly think handing out chocolate is getting involved,” he told her with some bite, “If anything, you should be proud. From what I’ve observed so far, Draco seems involved with very little”. 

“What is that supposed to mean, Lupin?” she asked, not liking the judgment in his tone. 

“While I value the companionship I have formed with your son, I am becoming concerned that I might be his closest friend in the entirety of the castle,” 

“Draco has always been a taciturn child,” She defended. 

“Narcissa, you have terrified him away from getting close to anyone outside his family. I understand you have reservations about how he will be treated, but Draco is a bright young boy. He deserves more than the friendship of a scarred old man and his mother,” Lupin implored her. Narcissa looked uncomfortably into her glass, feeling lightheaded. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe his words held some truth. 

“You’re hardly old,” she told him quietly. Lupin barked out a laugh and drained his tumbler.

“Do yourself a favor, and give your son permission to breathe this year. You Black women have a history of pushing your children away. Don’t make the same mistake as your Aunt,” he told her with a rare sincerity. Narcissa bit her lip, unable to admit that perhaps he had a point. Lupin rose to head back to the castle. 

“You’ll keep an eye on him this year?” she asked quietly to his back. 

“Nothing will happen to Draco. You have my word,” he told her as he walked into the fireplace. They made eye contact a final time before the flames gobbled him up, and Narcissa was alone again. 

She vanished their glasses and walked heavily up the stairs to her bedroom. She found herself collapsing onto her bed, still in her day clothes. She only now realized that she hadn’t even changed into wizarding robes around him. 

She wasn’t Walburga or her mother. Draco loved her. Yes, he occasionally was cross with her. She certainly wasn’t cruel or overly manipulative. She believed she had learned to tolerate his eclectic interests. She would have been subject to her mother’s wand if she ever requested to go to a muggle aquarium. But she had taken him when he was nine and wanted to go for his birthday. She may have even enjoyed herself. Maybe she wouldn’t always understand, but she was trying. Nymphadora had even told her she was more ‘tolerable’ in recent years. It bothered her that their opinions suddenly mattered to her. She supposed they were family, well not Lupin; she wasn’t sure what he was anymore. 

Lupin continually perplexed her. He had no real allegiance to her family, only staunchly to this house. She never expected him to be such a constant figure in her life. She would never admit it out loud, but she already missed him coming around, taking up space in her parlor and asking redundant questions about payments to the Potter boy and how the property was holding up. He infuriated her with his kind eyes and his gruff appearance. He never seemed to bother with what he looked like but was frustratingly more attractive to her than the handful of pureblood men she had been in contact with over the past ten years. 

Narcissa felt her chest flush. No, that wasn't right; she was drunk and had been alone for too long. It was dangerous to start thinking about him like that. The hot feeling seemed only to grow and travel down her breasts, pitting in her stomach. She unbuttoned her blouse to try and alleviate the heat. She had grown used to taking care of her own needs over her years of solitude. She would never have brought a stranger home while her son slept three doors down. She supposed she could have sought out companionship for herself after he had begun Hogwarts, but she had little interest in trying to find a new suitor. So Narcissa had come quite proficient at satisfying her own desires.

She was alone in the darkness of her room, and the heat in her core only seemed to burn more. She closed her eyes and quietly crept her hand to the apex of her thighs outside her trousers, gently massaging at her clit through the fabric. It wasn’t enough friction, and soon she was unbuttoning her trousers and kicking them off the edge of her bed. She resumed her efforts, gently making her way through the patch of coarse hair over her outer lips. She could already feel the moisture there. She bit back a moan to not alert the geriatric house-elf of her activities and have him burst in to see what was wrong with his mistress.

She moved her hand in practiced circles around her nub. She pictured large rough hands instead of her own as they moved. She moved her left hand to her breasts and pinched at her nipples through her thin silk blouse, and arched her back at the sensation. She wondered what it would be like to have his mouth on her breasts over the material. She could feel the moisture pooling between her thighs and experimentally inserted a finger into herself, moving it slowly in and out. Her fingers were small and thin, and it was hard to imagine they were his. She wanted more and added another in an attempt to alleviate the growing ache. She still burned for something larger and more friction, but her hands would have to do for now. Her body was making obscene wet sounds as she tried her best to taper down her moans. She wanted his arms around her and his larger body between her thighs. She wanted his stubble against her throat, biting at the sensitive skin there. She was growing closer, and the heat was becoming unbearable. Her hands moved faster and rougher as the pleasure continued building. She pictured his face looking down at her, with that wolfish grin from her parlor earlier, and she peaked, letting out a silent scream into the darkness. 

Narcissa let out deep puffs of air and stared at the wooden ceiling.

That was not good.

She could admit that perhaps a few times prior, she had pictured his hands over the years. Never his face, though, and certainly not during the moment of climax. She buried her face into her pillow, her face red with shame. No good could come of this. 

The next morning she awoke hungover and still embarrassed to burnt toast and undercooked eggs. Kreacher had insisted Mistress eat breakfast in bed if she was unwell. Narcissa had done her best to stomach the burnt toast. She had taken a long bath, trying to scrub away the thoughts from the night before. She didn’t even bother getting dressed for the day, spending the day in her blue dressing gown. 

Pendragon had returned early in the morning with a reply from Draco. It took her all day to write back to him, reluctantly including the signed permission slip for Hogsmeade. It took even longer to deliberate on sending the second note. It was nearly after midnight when she finally asked Pendragon to deliver a small parchment to Lupin. The bird looked annoyed at the second request of extra work, and she gave him an additional treat to bribe him to deliver it when Draco wasn’t around. She watched the bird fly into muggle London and hoped that she made the correct decision. 

***

Remus Lupin silently observed Draco Black quite happily tell Theodore Nott that his mother had decided to let him attend Hogsmeade in the back of his defense classroom. He glanced at the bit of parchment on his desk. Her elegant handwriting had written a single sentence, but he knew it was from Narcissa. 

_Thank you for the company and advice._

The note left a rather unexpected smile on his face as he called the class to attention and informed them they would be making a special trip to the staff room to deal with a Boggart this afternoon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello All, 
> 
> I hope everyone has been having an ok week. I enjoyed writing this one, and I adore snarky wine goblet Narcissa. And we finally got some confirmation of her less than platonic feelings. I have gone back and forth with including Remus and Hermione as narrators since I started writing this. I thought it would be more concise with just Draco and Narcissa, but then I wrote the next chapter from Remus's perspective, and it was such fun. So fuck continuity, this is fanfic, haha. The next update will be Remus's narration and will be available over the weekend. I've made a slight tweak to the title as well since Draco and Narcissa really are the joint main characters. Thank you for all the thoughtful comments and kudos on the last chapter. 
> 
> Stay Safe, 
> 
> ivyeyed


	7. Remus Lupin

Remus Lupin finished with the stack of essays he had on his desk and rushed back to his quarters to pack for the winter holidays. As a new staff member, he has the luxury of leaving before the children and their Heads of House. Remus has had many jobs over the course of his adult life. Never a true career, just little gigs here and there that will take a half-breed with few questions. He was by no means wealthy, but he made enough that he was comfortable in the rubble that was left of his life after the end of the war. He lived alone in his little cottage and was content to wrap himself in the perpetual bleakness of being the last living and free marauder. Good things had never had a way of staying around in his life for long, and he wouldn’t be surprised when his new career eventually imploded.

Remus still wasn’t sure why he had said yes to Dumbledore. It was too much unnecessary risk for himself, but part of him worried for Draco and Harry with Sirius Black on the loose. Part of him longed for the stability of an actual profession that challenged him intellectually. And part of him was really damn lonely. 

All those years ago, when he was twenty-two and showed up at 12 Grimmauld Place, he had never expected to form any sort of attachment to its new residents. He had been so angry and inconsolable over what Sirius had done, James and Lily’s fate, and Peter’s death. He had wanted to burn the whole building to the ground. He had not been expecting Narcissa Malfoy to be sitting on Walburga’s couch clutching a child. The look on her face had reminded him of Lily at the end, clinging to her child as the last lifeline in the sea of darkness and uncertainty. 

That was where their similarities ended. Narcissa was infuriating; it was incredible to him that she had produced such a polite and kind child. She was all sharp angles, bite, and wit. In those early years, he kept his visits short and professional. She had always served him tea and insisted that they were a waste of time. He silently agreed, but he had let Harry Potter down at every juncture in his life and refused to do so again. He had never anticipated forming an attachment to her son. It was hard not to feel affection for an innocent child who would never be considered that way by the wizarding world. 

He understood that feeling of isolation for something so outside of your own control well. So Remus had ignored his harpy of a mother and carved out yet another found family with Draco and the remaining Black clan. When Draco had gone to Hogwarts, his life was left feeling empty again. He still showed up and bothered Narcissa, but it didn’t give him the same pleasure to rile her up as it did in his youth. She seemed just as lost without her son as he did. 

So he had taken the damn post, and his secret teetered on the ledge of public knowledge every day. Snape was doing little to help with his pointed assignments on werewolves. It was a miracle that Draco hadn’t figured it out yet. The Granger girl certainly had; she had started only writing the necessary parchment length on the days leading up to the full moon and after in some perverse attempt to help him get through his time of the month. She hadn’t told anyone as far as he could tell, as Harry still came to his office for lessons and tea. He was grateful for the fall term coming to a close and looking forward to much needed time alone. He took one last glance around his personal quarters before flooing to the Leaky Cauldron for a well-deserved end of term drink. 

It was a week till Christmas, and the bar was packed with witches and wizards home for the holiday. Remus had hoped to find a quiet table in the back but was pleasantly surprised to recognize Ted Tonks at the bar. He and Ted had run contraband during the war together. Andromeda was a rather adept Apothecarist and had brewed various potions for the Order during the darkest days. The husband and wife had made quite the team and saved many lives. Ted clapped him on the back upon seeing him. 

“Professor Lupin, we had hoped to run into you during your break from teaching the nightmare of the next generation,” Ted told him while picking up three pints of ale from the counter. Remus took one of the steins as they threatened to slosh over. 

“You’ll have to join us, mate,” Ted said as he gestured to the back corner. 

“Let me grab a drink first,” he found himself agreeing quickly. He liked the Tonks family, and they always had readily welcomed him into their circle. He flagged down the bartender and gestured for a beer for himself. Ted smiled and left him with the one pint to carry back to the table. Armed with his own glass, he headed in the direction that Ted had disappeared towards. 

He felt his smile droop slightly approaching the table. He hadn’t been expecting Narcissa, and he was apparently holding her drink. He supposed that Nymthadora was probably too old to be at a bar with her parents. Andromeda rose as he approached and gave him a friendly peck on his stubbled cheek. 

“You’re looking well, dear. How has Hogwarts treated you this term?” She asked. Remus continued standing, glancing towards Narcissa as she gracefully moved in to make room on her side of the booth. 

“Well, the children are terrors, and the paperwork is somehow still scarier,” he said, gently placing the glasses on the edge of the table before passing Narcissa hers. He had never seen her drink anything other than her polite cups of tea and elvish goblets of wine. She took the stein with a small nod of thanks. 

He moved to sit down beside her, his body dwarfing her lithe frame. 

“Draco is well, received a perfect mark on his final essay,” He said by way of introduction. Narcissa smiled into her brew. 

“Of course he did. He’s learning from the best now. Remus the racketeer, best potion smuggler this side of the Thames,” Ted chortled from across the table. 

“Think I’m just Remus the redundant now, mate. Judging from how often I catch first years falling asleep on me,” Remus joked. Ted barked out a laugh, and Andromeda smiled lovingly at her husband. 

“What brings you out tonight?” Remus asked them, leaning back on the bench, his legs extending out toward the aisle away from Narcissa. 

“Tonight, we are saving my dear sister from a rather disastrous night out,” Andromeda informed him. 

“Andy-,” Narcissa warned her. Andromeda laughed lightly, brushing off her discomfort.

“She apparated from the bathroom of that new French bistro, claimed she could not sit through another minute of her date,” Ted informed him, snickering into his glass. Narcissa's normally pale face flushed red. And it might’ve been the alcohol, but Remus thought she looked quite pretty like that. 

“I had an obligatory dinner with an old schoolmate, and Andy was kind enough to walk by the restaurant at the conclusion to invite me for a drink,” she clarified while taking a rather heavy sip of her beer. 

“Damon Burke is hardly an old school chum, and from the way he was dressed, he certainly thought it was more than a dinner between two old friends,” Ted smirked at her. Narcissa rolled her eyes in perhaps the most regal way Remus has ever witnessed. 

“How is Nymphadora doing?” Remus asked to change the subject, and he could be mistaken, but he thought Narcissa looked rather relieved. 

“Well, she’s set to finish her Auror program by the spring, so I’m sure she’ll soon be causing more havoc than any dark wizards might,” Andromeda informed him crossly.

“Andy is just bitter because she has been less than foretelling with her social life lately. We believe she may be seeing someone though she’s been rather cagey about it,” Ted told him with a wink. 

“Dora has always been rather independent, though. I’m sure she’ll tell you in her own time,” Narcissa defended her niece. 

“We’re getting old, dear sister. We’re hoping for a grandchild by the time Andy is fifty. Dora needs to get a move on,” Ted told her seriously. 

“That’s positively archaic, Edward,” Narcissa said, crinkling her nose. Remus quietly agreed Andromeda and Ted were only maybe 10 years his senior, and the idea of having a child, let alone a grandchild in the next fifteen years or so, made him shutter. 

“What, Andy doesn’t want to wait forever. God knows Draco is much less fun to spoil now. All he ever wants is books. Narcissa did you not raise your child to have more fun,” Ted asked her. 

“I think Draco may be taking a bit of fancy to quidditch. I’ve caught him practicing with the school brooms several times this term. He’d make a fair chaser or keeper,” Remus informed them all. 

The evening seemed to pass with a quiet warmth that Remus couldn’t remember experiencing since Christmas dinners at the Potter household surrounded by his found family. The night began to turn into the early hours of the morning, and Andromeda dragged her inebriated husband toward the floo. Remus watched them share a peck before she pushed him into the fireplace and threw the powder down, stating their home address for him. 

“Are you flooing?” he asked Narcissa, who had drunk the least out of the four of them. 

“Apparating most likely. Kreature is proving to be easily startled in his old age and confused. I’d rather not wake him,” Narcissa informed him, going to retrieve her outer cloak from the hook near the door. Remus decided he must have drunk more than his fair share, as he admired her form in her burgundy robes. It was one of those little muggle like dresses she seemed to favor around her sister—an odd choice for a date out with an undoubtedly pureblood wizard. 

“I’ll walk you to the apparition point,” he told her, leaving her little choice. He led the way out of the back of the Leaky into the cool evening. Narcissa followed behind. It was already a cold December, and snow flurries were starting to cascade down from the sky. 

“You should floo Lupin. You’ll end up splinching yourself like this,” She told him. He turned around, expecting to see her usual sour expression, but she looked quietly amused. 

“I’m the current Defense Professor. I think I can manage myself,” He told her curtly, stumbling slightly down the street. 

“I’m sure you’ll be happy to have Draco home tomorrow,” He stated. 

“Yes, I’ve found myself with a blessedly quiet fall,” she told him as she grabbed his arm to steady him. 

“But you’ve had all this extra time to go out on the town with Bulstrode,” he told her with a smirk. 

“He was Burke, and barely a Burke. Maybe a second cousin,” Narcissa told him, wrinkling her nose. 

“Only the finest for Miss Narcissa Black, heir of the Black Family,” he japed at her, “I’m sure we could find you a Rosier or Rowle,” He looked down at her and teased. 

“You’ll have to do better than that, Lupin. They’re far from the best,” She replied. Remus was acutely aware of how blue her eyes were at that moment. He always thought they looked rather cold compared to her son’s. Here in the cold dark of the alley, they filled him with warmth. 

His arm found its way around her shoulder. Remus was surprised by how pleasant it felt. He figured tomorrow he could tell himself that he was drunk and didn’t know any better. 

As they walk closer to the apparition point, Remus found them to be more and more tangled. 

First, her hand was on his tricep. 

Then her head is tucked under his chin. 

His hand is curled around her neck. 

Then she’s somehow facing him with her arms wrapped around his shoulders. 

His hands are tangled in her long blond hair, and her face is pressed into the stubble that brushes the top of his neck. 

He has never seen Narcissa Black look braver and more determined than when she tilts her head back and presses her lips into his. Remus kisses her back, absolutely starved for her, and has the realization that this has been building in him for years. When she pulls back, he cups her face between his large scared hands. She leans into them, and he sees the same scared look on her face from the first time he set his sights on her on the loveseat in the dusty parlor. 

The moment is over before it can really begin, and Narcissa is backing away from him wordlessly before vanishing into the winter night with barely a pop signaling her departure. 

Remus is left alone on the street, wiping her lipstick off his mouth onto his robe sleeve. He knows no amount of alcohol can be blamed for tonight, and he wonders in the morning if he’ll even care to try. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, 
> 
> I feel like I promised slow burn a few chapters ago, yet here we are, lol. Remus was such fun to write. The next chapter will finally be Hermione's introduction. Thank you to any Dramione shippers for sticking it out 8 chapters for them to actually speak (they're probably the true slow burn of this story). Thank you for the kudos and comments on the last chapter. They really make my day and keep me going. I hope everyone has a lovely weekend! Next, update Tuesday/Wednesday before I return to work. 
> 
> Best,  
> ivyeyed


	8. Hermione Granger

Hermione Granger isn’t sure how to approach the flaxen-haired boy at his table among the stacks in the library. He is often alone, but during her last few visits, he always seemed surrounded by either a younger blond girl or the Slytherin boy whose father slipped Ginny Weasley the cursed diary the year prior. Hermione wants answers but is aware of the delicate nature of the information she seeks and would prefer not to ask sensitive questions in front of others. 

Draco Black has been pleasant enough to her even though he always looks glum. She has no reason to fear speaking to him. She’s fairly certain he was one of the many well-wishers that left her a card while she was petrified the previous year. She has no reason to believe that he might rebuke her because of her blood status like so many of the purebloods with old houses seem to. He’s just a quiet boy with few friends, and it shouldn’t be so hard to go up and ask him for information. 

It would be easier if perhaps Hermione didn’t harbor a small crush on the tall Ravenclaw. She knew it was just adolescent hormones and that several girls felt similarly. He was already a great deal taller than most boys in their year, and Hermione could admit objectively attractive with his fair coloring and deep blue eyes. He was always formally polite, and he appeared well-read. Hermione wasn’t surprised that he had been slowly gathering a rather long queue of admirers that she suspected would only grow longer as they got older. 

Hermione usually had no trouble talking to boys though most of her close friends were male. The questions she had for him were sensitive, though, and she wasn’t positive he’d want to share with her a virtual stranger. She had been trying for the better part of the fall term to buck up the courage to go over to his table. Ever since Christmas when Harry received that wretched broomstick in the post, her information gathering mission had gone from a backburner project to actually important. She had been about ready to use the time-turner for surveillance purposes when she finally happened upon him alone the second week after returning for the spring term. 

Hermione tried to examine the stacks next to his table casually, and to her embarrassment, realized that he sat behind a rather thorough section on love potions. She reluctantly pulled one of the less ridiculous-looking volumes and put on her best smile, hyper-aware of how her braces must look to a pureblood wizard. 

“Did you have a good holiday?” she asked rather abruptly, startling him from the book he clearly had been reading. Draco looked shocked by her presence and managed to nod mutely at her. Hermione felt her cheeks turn red and embarrassment sink into the pit of her stomach. 

“It was quite nice. We spent the day with my Aunt, Uncle, and Cousin. Mother gave me a subscription to Potionteer Quarterly. Did you have a nice break?” Draco asked her, eying the book in her arms with some confusion. 

“My parents were visiting my grandmother, so I actually stayed here for the Holiday. It was quiet but nice,” Hermione stumbled out. Her break had been anything but nice. Ron had been upset with her all term because of his stupid rat, and Harry refused to see reason over why it potentially might be a mistake to accept a broomstick from mass murder. Hermione’s suspicions over their lupine professor were also growing stronger with each passing full moon. Draco appeared to be close with their Defense Professor and often stayed late to help him tidy up the classroom, and she had caught them having tea together on several occasions. She wondered if he would confirm her theory, but that was not the piece of information she was after today. 

“Can I help you with anything, Granger?” He asked her politely. 

“I was wondering if you’d have time to discuss the ancient rune assignment before it’s due?” She blurted out, losing her nerve.

“I’m available next Sunday for a few hours. We could meet here if you’d like?” He asked her, looking happy with her inquiry though it was always sort of hard to tell his true emotions with him. Perhaps there was hope yet, that she could ask him her questions. It would be quieter on Sunday, and there would be fewer ears. 

“That would be perfect. Thank you, Black.” Hermione told him, giving him a shy smile before walking back to her table to gather her belongings. Her ancient runes assignment had been done for over a week, and she’d have to go through and add in a few errors before asking him to look at it. 

Hermione found herself eagerly awaiting Sunday. Ron and Harry had continued their frosty attitudes throughout the week. She thought maybe if she found some new tidbit of information, the boys would soften to her. She and Crookshanks spent the days carefully compiling all the information she had already gathered into an organized folder. 

The part of herself that was a budding teenager was excited for their study meeting on an entirely different plane that she wasn't sure she was quite ready to admit out loud to herself. It seemed frivolous to have a crush on a boy she barely knew, especially with one of her best friend's consistently in mortal peril. 

When Sunday rolled around, Hermione found herself eagerly arriving at the library an hour before they had agreed to meet. She had worn a new plum sweater that she had received from her Mum over the holiday. Her mother had told her the color would be pretty with the caramel tones of her skin and compliment her brown eyes nicely. She attempted to braid her unruly hair into a single french twist but gave up and ended up doing one on each side of her head. She looked at her muggle braces in the mirror and wished that her parents would have just let her magically shrink her teeth. All the purebloods and a good chunk of the half-bloods in her year had made fun of their appearance. 

She chose the table he usually sat at hidden in the stacks. There were only a few tables of fifth and seventh years present; everyone else seemed to be outside playing in the snow. Black had arrived precisely on time. Hermione was quietly pleased as Ron and Harry always tended to be perpetually late, especially to the library. 

"Good morning, Granger," he greeted her cordially. He placed a rather smart looking satchel down on the table and pulled several neat stacks of parchment out. 

"Good morning, Black," she replied, trying not to sound too eager. 

They worked through their ancient runes assignment quickly and efficiently. Hermione was pleasantly surprised to find his only needed minor corrections. Black was able to figure out all the spots she had erred on purpose and admittedly a mistake she had even missed herself. It was refreshing working with someone that took their studies seriously and didn't expect her to rewrite their entire parchment for them. Black snuck some biscuits out from his bag and offered her the tin when Madame Pince was not in the eye line of their table. 

Hermione would ordinarily abhor eating in the library, but she supposed she could let it slide this once. Black at least vanished his crumbs after he was done. 

"Was there anything else you needed help with?" He asked her as they wrapped up editing the assignments. It was now or never. Hermione summoned all of her courage and pulled out her folder. 

"I was wondering if you'd be willing to speak to me about your second-cousin," she asked shyly. Black looked nervous and started tapping his foot under the table. 

"I've never met Sirius, and I haven't spoken to him since his escape," he told her, looking distrustful. 

"Not that I thought you had," Hermione told him frantically. 

"I've been worried about Harry, all term, and I'm trying to compose as much information as possible about him," she pulled out the papers to show him, "or you have any new leads you could share, I'd be forever grateful," she concluded. 

"This is why you wanted to meet," he asked her somewhat sadly. She hadn't expected him to be clever enough to figure it out and suddenly felt guilty about the entire ruse. 

"I'm sure I don't know any more than the press does. My mother has been rather tight-lipped about him, and I'm not under the impression they were close as children," he told her rather coldly. 

"But you live in his childhood home," she tried to reason as he quickly packed up his belongings. 

"My mother boxed up his things years ago. They’re in storage in the basement along with my great- aunt's belongings,” he told her curtly. He started to move away from the table. 

"You know we're not like him, Granger, or the rest of his family. I thought you of all people would understand that, '' he told her cooly. 

Hermione was left sitting in the library feeling mortified. She had made a grave miscalculation. Maybe a small part of her thought Black would happily boast about his family as purebloods seemed to. She hadn't wanted to hurt his feelings or make him feel judged for his relatives’ actions. 

Hermione had felt enough of those feelings in the wizarding world. Prejudice seemed to haunt her since she first stepped foot on the Hogwarts express. Her situation was not nearly the same and was rooted in far different discrimination. Still, she quietly hated herself for not trying to be at least modestly more sympathetic to some of the hatred he must receive because of his family's unsavory history in the war. 

Hermione spent the next month trying to apologize to him, but he was never alone in the library now. He always seemed to be hiding behind the grumpy Slytherin boy or the petite airy eyed blonde girl in public spaces. The only time she spotted him alone was on his way to and from the quidditch pitch. She had spied him out of a second-story window, his golden hair glowing like a halo in the snowbanks. Hermione knew that if she followed him there, there was no easy excuse for her presence. She would be faced with what she did and have to apologize. 

Hermione waited until the snow had melted, and most of her year would be headed to Hogsmeade. Ron and Harry, secretly of course, had even extended an olive branch invitation to her for the day. Black rarely spent more than the morning in the village. She would see him occasionally with his Slytherin friend, but then his friend would depart to meet up with his housemates at the Three Broomsticks. Hermione had meandered about in the foyer of the Great Hall obscured by a suit of armor until Black had emerged that afternoon and headed down to the Quidditch Pitch alone. He was in muggle jeans and a dark green sweater under his winter cloak. Hermione wasn’t sure if she had ever seen him in muggle clothing. None of the other purebloods would own such pieces. Black almost always meticulously wore his school uniform, tie and jumper always neatly pressed. 

She made sure to follow at a safe distance as he procured a practice broom from the shed before taking off into the air. Hermione quietly waited in the stands casting several warming chams on her cloak. He was a good flyer, not that she was the best judge of the skill. Not as natural as Harry, perhaps, but certainly better than Ron. He looked almost regal on his second-hand broomstick. She watched as Black rose higher and higher into the sky, quickly disappearing into the overcast clouds. He nearly scared her half to death when he suddenly dove right in front of her. He hovered right in front of her lazily on his broom, giving her a rather peculiar look.

“What are you doing here, Granger? Shouldn’t you be with Potter and Weasley at Hogsmeade?” he asked her curiously. 

“I…have um,” She tried to compose herself, “Have been trying to buck up the courage to apologize for that Sunday.” When she had rehearsed the speech in her head, it had gone more elegantly, and she wasn’t clutching at her chest in surprise. Black does not look impressed. 

“Nothing to apologize for Granger, you haven’t been the first to ask if I’m aiding and abetting a murder in my infinite free time this term, and you certainly won’t be the last,” he told her sarcastically as he slowly circled her spot on the stands. He went from looking rather regal to predatory.

“I didn’t accuse you of anything,” she told him sharply, “I simply wanted to know more about a man that has been stalking my best friend for half a year and who you happen to share a name with.” This was not going to plan. Perhaps Black couldn’t be reasoned with. 

“Rather Slytherin of you Granger, gaining my trust before going for the kill. I thought you Gryffindors were supposed to be straight shooters and noble,” Black mocked her, stopping his broom in front of her again. He looked about ready to dart off and disappear. Hermione felt her cheeks heat up; maybe he had a point. 

“I didn’t expect you to be cunning enough to figure it out. Perhaps there's a bit of Slytherin in you as well,” She told him haughtily. Black let out a laugh, and Hermione was startled for the second time that afternoon. He lowered the broom down and sat down next to her in the stands fiddling with the wooden shaft.

“I’d wager more than a bit, I’m the first Black in Ravenclaw in over a hundred years,” he informed her. He looked more like the boy she had occasionally gazed at from across the hall like this on the ground and less like an adversary. 

“For what it’s worth, I am truly sorry I tried to deceive you,” she pleaded with him, “I should know better than most about unearned prejudice.” His blue eyes locked with her amber ones as he considered her apology. 

“I know you were just trying to help Potter. I understand what threat he’s under this year. Mother nearly panicked all summer about Black trying to take back our home,” He informed her, suddenly looking much older than thirteen. 

“Harry’s always managed to land in trouble, but this is the first time someone has actively been out for him. I hate standing by waiting for something bad to happen, so I research and try to get us ahead of it,” She told him quietly.

“It seems like quite the constant adventure being Harry Potter’s friend,” Black said sort of wistfully. Hermione smiled at him. 

“It’s worth it, he was my first real friend, and I’d like to try and keep him around as long as possible,” Black looked away, but she can see the longing for friendship in his eyes, and suddenly maybe she and the brooding Ravenclaw boy have yet another thing in common. 

Black stood up and prepared to mount his broom again. 

“Well, Hermione Granger, I return home in March for Easter. Perhaps I can peak around whatever Sirius Black left behind at the townhouse,” Hermione perked up at the promise of information. 

“Don’t get your hopes up too much. I know Mother purged a great deal of it when we first moved in,” He told her as he began to take off toward the skies again. 

“Draco, wait,” She called, standing and leaning over the guardrail at the edge of the stands. He turned back to her and hovered in the air expertly. 

“Can I join you in the library sometime?” Hermione asked shyly, “You were a much better study companion than Harry or Ron,” she admits. His face lights up in a genuine smile.

“Sure, Granger, I’ll see you around sometime. Be sure to bring assignments you haven’t actually finished already next time,” he told her with a soft chuckle. 

Hermione watched Draco Black disappear into the clouds and wondered if she’ll ever be able to get through a conversation with him without blushing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed Hermione making an appearance and their sort of flipped script interaction. Thank you for all the kudos (over 200!) and comments on the last chapter. The next update will not be till Sunday, most likely, as I return to work tomorrow and be Draco's narration. 
> 
> Best, 
> 
> ivyeyed


	9. Draco Black

The Easter holiday was abnormally quiet this year. Dora was busy preparing for her final examinations for the Auror program. Draco’s Aunt and Uncle had elected to take a short trip to Scotland together since their daughter would be busy. It had just been Draco and his Mother for the whole week he was off. It had been surprisingly pleasant, and Draco had enjoyed the time with only the two of them. But it was nearly impossible to find the needed solitude to look into Sirius Black as he had promised Granger he would. 

Draco wasn’t sure who had been more excited by his return home. Mother had hugged him tightly on the platform of nine and three quarters, but Kreature had burst into tears and attached himself to his paint leg, promising to clean his tear stains off his Little Master’s trousers immediately. Neither had been far out of sight since. 

Draco had tried to invite Remus over for Easter tea, but the man had declined because he had business to tend to over the break. Remus’s visits had been so sporadic throughout his childhood that his occasional disappearances or new scars had never particularly worried him. He knew Remus tended to favor odd jobs over consistent work, but now that he was at Hogwarts, surely whatever work he got up to on the side could cease. It was almost like clockwork that Remus would disappear every month and reappear a few days later, looking far worse. Draco had begun to get very concerned and had bought it up over tea on several occasions. Remus was usually so open with him, but every time he mentioned it, the man would offer up a flimsy excuse and change the subject. 

His Mother seemed off too. When he mentioned wanting to go to muggle London to see a museum exhibit about Ancient Egypt, she had actually seemed eager to take him and had outwardly enjoyed herself. She had even suggested stopping for dinner at a small muggle kabob shop down the street. It was somewhere Uncle Ted had recommended apparently, and perhaps the strangest experience of his life watching his Mother daintily eat meat on a stick. The break was coming to a close, and Draco was mentally preparing to return to Hogwarts in a few days. He had a Potions assignment due when he returned, and he was hoping to sneak over to Aunt Andromeda’s later this afternoon when they returned from their trip to have her check over his calculations. Snape’s assignments had been getting trickier as he got older, and Draco found himself frequently consulting with his Aunt for her expertise. 

  
  


Draco crept downstairs before seven to find his mother already in the kitchen, quietly brewing tea and warming up some porridge. Both had been finding it easier to rise earlier in the day before Kreature had awoken, and the house-elf could insist on preparing them an inedible breakfast. At least this way, they only had to vanish parts of their dinners politely. Narcissa moved quietly, setting the table with some fresh berries, sugar, and cream for their tea. Draco wordlessly helped dish out the porridge into both of their bowls and placed them on the kitchen table. His mother was still in a blue silk robe, and Draco was wearing a sweater and a pair of soft pajama pants. They both quietly sat down together. As Mother poured them both tea, they were both startled by a tapping owl at the window. Draco didn’t recognize the rather common-looking brown bird, but Mother quickly leapt to her feet and went to let it in. It pecked affectionately at her fingertips as it dropped the letter on the countertop. Narcissa summoned a jar of owl treats and offered the bird one before it flew off into the early morning light. Draco watched her read the parchment while leaning against the counter, wordlessly summoning her tea from the table. He couldn’t make out what the letter said, but the handwriting looked slightly familiar. His mother looked conflicted as she read the words, and when she had finished, she carefully folded up the letter and stuck it in the pocket of her robe. She rejoined him at the table, adding some berries to her porridge. 

“Do you have any plans today?” she quietly asked him. 

“I have a few assignments to complete, and I’m going to try and pop over to Aunt Andromeda’s later for help on a potion's essay,” he replied, eying her suspiciously. Mother very rarely received mail as she had maybe even fewer friends than he did. 

“I’ll be out most of the day, but maybe we can see if we can persuade Andy and Ted to get dinner out somewhere tonight. I doubt they have any food in the house after their trip. I can meet you over there around six?” she inquired. 

Draco was at a crossroad while he wanted to know what the letter and her subsequent departure for the day meant. He also knew this would be his only opportunity to poke around for the information Granger was seeking. 

“That would be good. At least we can avoid Kreature’s cooking for the whole day,” he whispered. For being old, the little elf still had ears like a bat. His mother chuckled into her teacup. 

“Yes, I suppose we both deserve a day free of the charred remains of whatever poor animal he decides to roast tonight.”

Narcissa finished her breakfast quickly and disappeared to get ready while Draco did the washing up. He passed her as she came down the stairs and noted that she had chosen a muggle black velvet dress his Aunt had given her for her birthday a few years ago. She must be headed out into muggle London, as Mother never went anywhere in the wizarding world in muggle frocks. She kissed him on the cheek before heading to the main foyer to grab her coat. Draco could puzzle out her odd behavior later. For now, he had more important things to focus on, like thinking up an adequate activity to distract Kreature with so he could snoop. 

Draco got dressed quickly and summoned a sleepy Kreature to his bedroom. He requested that the elf retrieve a copy of his potions textbook at school. He felt terrible because he knew the Hogwarts elves were not fond of Kreature. He had previously asked him to retrieve a sweater he left behind at the end of the last term, and it had taken him three days to gain access to his dormitory. He felt even worse because the book was securely locked in his school trunk a few feet away. Kreature seemed delighted with the job and immediately disappeared. 

Draco was reasonably sure that most of Sirius’s belongings were in the basement with Aunt Walburga’s furniture. Kreature had claimed most of ‘Master Reggie’s’ belongings over the years and crammed them in his cupboard. Draco had found a few of his own school assignments and other trash of his also stuffed into the elf’s nest. The elf seemed to want nothing to do with Sirius’s belongings, though. The basement was old and smelled of mildew. Draco did not care to picture its purpose to the house’s previous owner, but now it acted as a time capsule to the Black family’s departed members. 

He found the boxes from Sirius’s room stuck between an antique dresser and a coat rack made from what looked like dragon bones. It only was three boxes, so he levitated them up to his room. Mother had disposed of most of his possessions when she had initially purged the house. The first box was mostly clothes. Draco found a vintage Talking Heads shirt he rather liked. Sometimes he listened to muggle music with Ted in his potting shed when they worked on muggle cars. He and Sirius seemed to be a similar size and height. He also stole the least tight pair of muggle jeans he could find and a denim jacket. Hopefully, mother would assume they were just more of Ted’s hand me downs. The second box was mostly trinkets from his childhood bedroom, expired pranks, and a very revealing poster of the muggle woman on a motorbike in an open leather jacket and very little else. The tops of Draco’s ears turned pink even though he was alone. 

The final box was most promising. It seemed to be from Sirius’s Hogwarts days and maybe the war. He didn’t even think it had been his mother who boxed it up, but rather Sirius himself based on the duct tape haphazardly keeping its contents sealed. 

There were stacks of notes between four individuals named Moony, Padfoot, Prongs, and Wormtail. Draco sat cross-legged on the bed as he read them plan mischief and mayhem among the school. He recognized Remus’s voice of reason and the polite script from their correspondence over the years as the notes from ‘Moony’. Draco sat puzzled as he didn’t think anyone called him that nickname, not even Ted, and he had maybe known him the longest of their family. His friends, the other three boys, had to be Sirus Black, Peter Pettigrew, and James Potter. Draco knew their names in passing from public knowledge. He knew Remus had been helping Potter with the dementors for the last term and assumed he and his father must have been close. Draco gently gathered all the notes and placed them in an envelope to take to Granger. Maybe she’d be able to make heads or tails of who was who. 

There were a fair number of old term papers and an old Gryfindor scarf that he set aside. At the very bottom of the box is a set of photographs. They appear to be muggle as they aren’t moving about. The first is of the four boys in front of the Black Lake. They’re smiling and laughing. Remus looks young and light, and it brings a smile to Draco’s face. The nicknames were again printed on the back along with the date May 13th, 1978. Draco did the math and decided that it was taken shortly before they all graduated. 

The next photo is of Potter’s parents. He understands why he has heard people say Potter is his father’s spitting image with his mother’s eyes when he looks at the photograph. His mother is in a white dress and his father a tie. It must be from their wedding as it’s marked a year later. Draco mentally noted to make sure Granger gets this one to Potter somehow. The next set of photos puzzled him. There is one of Remus and a large black dog. Another of James Potter with a small rat on his shoulder and the same dog to his left. The dog almost looks like he’s smiling in this one. The final photo is maybe the most bizarre. It’s Remus, shockingly close to perhaps the largest stag Draco has ever seen. None of the pictures are dated, and Remus and James are both in school uniforms. The stag’s photo must be from the forbidden forest, but Draco wasn’t aware of any muggle animals living there. He can see the correspondence between the creatures and boys nicknames; perhaps they had familiars? 

The only thing left in the box is parchment riddled with potion ingredients and handwritten instructions. The handwriting is similar to whoever wrote on the back of the photos. The potion looks advanced, and Draco doesn’t immediately recognize the ingredients: aconite, thistle, and dried newts, plus a handful of things he has never brewed with. He puts it with his homework to show his Aunt. 

Draco places the photos in his trunk with the notes for Granger. He isn’t sure how much they’ll help protect her friend, but he’s proud of himself for actually being able to procure something of value for her research. He put on the new jean jacket over his sweater and is pleased with its fit. He returned everything to the basement and hoped that the piles look undisturbed despite now missing a layer of dust. He has worked through lunchtime and grabs his belongings to head over to his Aunt’s house. He summoned Kreature back before he leaves and tells him apologetically that he found his textbook in his trunk and that Mother and himself will be dining out tonight. He watched Kreature walk dejectedly to the kitchen, muttering about the unhelpful elves where his Little Master must go to learn.

Draco flooed to the Tonks’s residence and is immediately swept up in the arms of his Aunt. Ted is out back in his shed working on something, and Andy warmly invited him into her kitchen and fixed him a snack. 

“How was your trip, Aunt Andy?” He asked her in-between bites of sausage roll and crisps. 

“Oh, it was lovely, dear. Inverness is beautiful this time of year; there’s a fair amount of Fae activity so that I could secure some new potion ingredients for my stores,” She told him while pouring herself a cup of tea. 

“Did Uncle Ted enjoy himself?” Draco asked. 

“The fool got lost in a bog for half the trip. Claims he saw a kelpie, but it was surely just a cow,” Andromeda informed him with a wink as she spoons sugar into her tea. Draco chuckles and pulls out his homework. 

He and Andromeda spend the better part of the late afternoon going over his potion homework and the curriculum for the rest of the year. She jots down helpful notes for him in the margins of his textbook. Mother may be the better spellcaster, but Andromeda shines with brewing. He worked up the courage to mention the mystery potion at a quarter of six, realizing that Mother will be arriving shortly. 

“We received an extra credit assignment. We’re supposed to identify a potion by just the list of ingredients,” Draco told her while pushing the page across the table. Andromeda’s eyes light up, and he knows she recognizes the brew. She smirked at him before shaking her head. 

“I can’t just tell you, Draco, that would be cheating,” she reprimanded him while laughing, and Draco’s cheeks turned pink. 

“This ingredient here, aconite, has many names. If you go down to my stores in the basement, that should point you in the right direction,” she informed him before sliding the paper back to him. 

Draco eagerly headed down to the basement; he rarely was allowed in her lab as a child cause Aunt Andy usually had something brewing. He felt special now that he is old enough to be alone in her workspace unsupervised. He looked at the new ingredients on her bench that she had yet to bottle and put away. He recognized foxglove and a bursting mushroom that looks ready to pop at any moment. On the far wall is a ceiling-high self with numerous glass jars on it. Draco grabbed a ladder and climbed up to look at the ingredients beginning with A. He frowned when aconite is not among them. It must be on the shelved under its alternative name. He begins the tedious task of scanning the jars from top to bottom, moving from left to right with the ladder. 

Draco’s about to give up and tell Aunt Andy that she must be out of aconite as he has nearly reached the end of her stores until he sees the name toward the middle of the final shelf. He felt elated at solving the mystery only for a brief moment, and then all he can feel is the air going out of his lungs. He looked at the familiar, carefully jarred purple flower, and then suddenly, so many things are evident at once, and Draco feels utterly foolish. 

He climbed the stairs feeling dread in every step. The photographs hidden in his trunk back home did not picture animals, and the nicknames were almost too obvious now that he could see the truth. As he opened the door to the kitchen, he felt that he had let Remus down all these years, not seeing the signs that were right in front of him: the disappearances and the scars. He feels even more hurt that Remus had never chosen to confide in him when Draco will tell him just about anything. His mother has arrived in his absence and is looking quite happy as she speaks with his Aunt. She gives him a small wave from across the room. The bright light in the kitchen hurts his eyes after the dim basement, and he can feel them start to water. He goes to put the recipe with his schoolwork and pack up his satchel. His mother excuses herself to the potting shed to collect Ted for dinner. 

“Did you figure out your mystery potion, dear?” Andromeda asked him with a teasing smile. 

He can feel a tear threatening to leak out of his eye, and he keeps his back firmly to his Aunt so he can compose himself under her watchful gaze. 

“It’s Wolfsbane,” he replied to her gravely while wiping away the evidence of his upset with the corner of his borrowed jean jacket. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, 
> 
> I hope everyone had a pleasant week! Draco digs a bit too deep in this one. Kudos to whoever guessed the potion prior to the end. Next up we'll be seeing where Narcissa disappeared to during this chapter. Thank you so much for the insightful and thoughtful comments and kudos. I continue to love reading everyone's thoughts. The next update will most likely be Friday as I'm back to work sooner rather than later sadly. 
> 
> Best wishes, 
> 
> ivyeyed


	10. Narcissa Black

Narcissa hasn’t seen Lupin since she apparated away from him that snowy night in Diagon Alley. He had come around the townhouse once that Christmas, but Narcissa had spied him on the drive from her bedroom and panicked. She had clutched the emergency portkey around her neck and escaped to the potting shed, scarring Ted, who had been working on tampering with the muggle car to become invisible. He had wordlessly handed her his box of hidden cigarettes, and she had spent the entire visit stewing over her cowardness while watching her brother-in-law accidentally turn the car a rather unattractive shade of marigold. 

That night in the Leaky Caldron had felt so warm and natural. She and Lupin squashed together in the side of a booth across from her sister and husband felt so easy and lacked any pretense. She had let herself be free that night, no careful guard between them. Narcissa found that she liked how easy it was to be part of her family when she stopped caring about pretense. 

When she had kissed him in the dark corner of Diagon Alley, it felt as easy as breathing, and that fact frightened her to no end. Her relationship with Lucius had always been a gentle chess match of giving and take played over a board where she knew what every piece did. She knew which pons she could sacrifice and that she needed to hold onto her queen. But being with Lupin was like setting up the game board and then deciding to snog on top of it and let all the pieces fall to the ground. 

She had hoped that they could chalk the incident up to drinking far too much and, happily, would never speak about it again. Lupin evidently was not on the same page. The little notes had started coming in late January. They were never addressed or signed but offered small updates on his life. She had kept them in a small charmed box under her bed, away from the accidental eyes of her son and Kreature’s clutches. 

  
  


_ Accidentally let a fifth-year disarm me, had to pretend that it was for educational purposes. _

_ Unsure how you ever shared a common room with Severus Snape. I see him only monthly and feel like I may never be happy again. I would prefer the dementors. _

_ Draco has your aptitude for spell casting. You should be proud. _

_ I still think about that night. I don’t regret it. _

  
  


It had taken her until nearly the end of February to reply. She had sat at her little desk in the library next to an impatient Hogwarts barn owl and stewed over what to even write to him. She had written to him about just about everything since.    
  


_ Kreature accidentally destroyed several of my finest vintage robes while doing the wash. I often contemplate gifting him a hat, but I don’t think he’d actually leave. _

_ Andromeda is working on a potion to increase fertility in witches of advanced age. She seemed rather excited about the possibility of me being a test subject. It was the first time I have hexed her in years. _

_ Ted is teaching me some new muggle card game with an obscene name. Draco had been interested in it over Christmas break. To Ted’s displeasure, I’m probably better than him now. _

_ I still think about it too. _

In March, his correspondence seemed to change in tone. She wrote him more often, and he often seemed tired and worried in his replies. She had even invited him to Easter tea, just to lay eyes on him and make sure he was still whole. It was the first time she had invited him to her home for a matter unrelated to the wards. He had told her that he was unfortunately indisposed. Narcissa was surprised how much the rejection bothered her. 

  
  


She had been surprised that Lupin had sent her a letter asking if she would be available to meet him for Lunch at a muggle bar near Diagon Alley two days before Draco was due back to Hogwarts. Perhaps she should have coyly refused, but she found herself hastily agreeing. Narcissa felt younger than thirty-six when she got ready that morning. She had used a few hair potions she hadn’t found an excuse to touch in years and curled the ends of her hair. She had chosen a black velvet muggle dress that she thought nicely accentuated her curves. She had thrown on a thick wool coat and apparated to the Leaky Cauldron to walk the rest of the way from the pub. 

She had been early, hoping to grab a drink before his arrival to calm her nerves. He apparently felt the same because he was already standing at the bar chatting with the barkeep when she walked in. Narcissa was suddenly lost with how to greet him. Her legs wobbled slightly in her heels as she tried to stroll over to him with confidence. He looked even more uncertain than she does up close, as if he didn’t really believe that she would show up. They stare at each other, and she settled on pressing a very chaste kiss to his cheek before quickly asking the bartender for a whiskey. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Lupin look at her as if he doesn’t recognize her. 

She led the way over to a corner booth, and they sat on opposite sides of the table, which seems more familiar. She can feel his eyes on her as she shimmies out of her coat, folding it beside her. She was quietly flattered by the attention as she smoothes the sides of the form-fitting dress down. 

“You seem well, Lupin,” Narcissa informed him. He does, for the most part. His hair is a little longer than the last time she saw him, and he hasn’t shaved in a few days, but she quietly prefers him this way. 

“Happy that the term is almost over. It’s been a stressful year,” he told her earnestly, and she can’t help but feel the same. It’s unheard of that the authorities have yet to catch Black. 

“Do you think you’ll return to teach next fall?” She inquired, holding her glass between both hands. 

“Perhaps, Dumbledore has been hounding me about the same thing. I enjoy teaching, but part of me is unsure about the longevity of this sort of career,” He informed her looking uncertain. 

“You have to be better than the previous two teachers that held the post,” She complimented him seriously. Draco has actually seemed to have retained the information from his class. 

“I’m afraid they set a shallow bar, and my aptitude for teaching in comparison might be overly praised,” he chuckled while waving off her praise. 

A waitress who looks far too young to be working in such an establishment interrupted them to take their order. Lupin asked for fish and chips, and Narcissa repeated the same because the bar doesn’t appear to have menus anywhere. 

“I know that’s not true,” she told him quietly. She realized as much as she often berates him, she does not like to hear self-deprecation on his tongue. 

“So why did you ask me here today?” She asked him while moving the ice in her glass around. As much as the long-dormant girlish part of the brain wants to believe he’s here to offer some declaration of attraction, she knew he is not the type for open adoration. 

“I need to tell you something in confidence, Narcissa,” he told her solemnly. He looked guilty, and it immediately worried her. 

“There is a piece of information about myself that I fear may come to light before the end of term, and I am hoping that you will still permit me to have contact with Draco,” He declared to her diplomatically. 

He looked so afraid at that moment. Like she’ll pass the judgment and take away something precious from him. Narcissa wondered what he could say to her that he thinks she could be so cruel after all this time. Especially after Christmas and the box of notes under her bed. She had hoped he maybe saw some change in her this year. Andromeda had told her she seemed happier and freer in recent months. 

The waitress deposited two greasy baskets on the table in front of them without a word. They both go untouched. Narcissa keeps her eyes on him as he starts to speak. 

“When I was a boy, I often played behind my parent’s house. The moon had been full that night, and my mother told me to come in and get out of the dark, but I didn’t listen to her and kept playing some game I had made up with a ball,” he started.

He looked pale and stumbled over his words in a way that makes Narcissa think she is one of few to hear this particular tale. Narcissa felt dread creep into her stomach as he continued. 

“I don’t even remember what game, but the ball rolled into the woods that touched the back of the yard. I went after it. I didn’t even see him coming. I just felt his teeth. I found out years later that my father lost some money against Greyback in a game of cards, and that was his way of evening the score,” he told her, looking forlornly down at his cup. 

He rolled up the sleeve of his dress shirt, and she can see the silvery teeth marks clearly on his forearm. He looked ashamed and hastily covered them back up. Narcissa is transported to another time and another man who proudly showed off his forearm and the hideous mark that lay breath his robes. Narcissa isn’t sure what to say to this man in front of her. She felt foolish missing so many signs for so many years. She clutched the cup so hard she’s afraid it may crack under her white-knuckled grip. 

“I never come anywhere near you or Draco during that part of the month. I take Wolfsbane, and I isolate so I don’t inflict anyone else. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I lost everything during the war. My family all died or abandoned me, and I felt so alone floating in dark water. Without even realizing it, I clung onto your family like a lifeline,” Lupin finished his piece and looked at her warily, awaiting her reaction. 

“I need a moment,” she told him diplomatically, rising and beginning to walk toward the loo in the back corner. She turned around momentarily. 

“Please don’t leave,” she said. He doesn’t look hopeful at her words, and she feels a bit bad leaving him to stew. But her legs are shakily leading her to the loo and the privacy she craves at this moment. 

It’s a single stall and filthy, but Narcissa doesn’t care; she locks the door and walks over to the sink wetting a muggle paper towel and patting her forehead and back of her neck with the cool water. She’s at an impasse. 

Before Draco, before Lucius even, she would have stuck her nose up and told him to stay far away from her. She would have told him that he wasn’t worthy of her time and certainly could not be in her son’s presence. She would have icily told him that he wasn’t really a man and only a beast doomed to serve the moon for the rest of his days. 

Remus Lupin was a man, though. He had shown her that over the last decade. He was kind, far kinder than she would ever be. And he was honest and thoughtful. He had stepped up for a boy who he did not know despite his mother’s history of standing on the opposite side of a battle line. She didn’t know where she belonged now, but she knew she had moved to some middle plane away from all the dark and light wizards that surrounded her. She saw how kind and gentle he was to her son. How could a monster be that kind to a fatherless boy? 

And then she pictured him as a child playing freely as Draco had with little care about the world. Her heart broke for him for the pain and isolation he must have gone through, and she felt ashamed for her part in it. She looked in the cracked vanity mirror. Narcissa wasn’t sure who was staring back at her anymore. Certainly not Narcissa Malfoy, and definitely not the Narcissa Black of her youth. Neither would be in this muggle bar bathroom in a muggle dress and heels, actually thinking over the decision that laid before her. He made her more courageous, and that wasn’t something she admitted lightly. Narcissa valued self-preservation above all else. There was no room for courage and adventure. 

She bit her lip, nearly cracking the fragile skin there, and pictured his face as he told her. Lupin expected and accepted her judgment before he had even opened his mouth to tell her. It was like he knew her better than everyone else sometimes. Like he saw through the cracks of her perfect pureblood facade. He saw her as a flawed and lonely individual, maybe not so different from himself. Maybe that’s why he had this uncanny ability to infuriate her more than anyone. Narcissa turned off the faucet and resolutely squared her shoulders back. She knew what she had to do. 

She could see him in the booth as she exited the stall, the baskets of chips are gone, and he’s left some muggle money on the table for the drinks and the uneaten food. He refused to look at her as she gently approached him like a wounded animal. His hands are folded in front of him, and she places her own over his larger scared ones, pulling him out of the bench. She leads him by the hand to the pub’s side door. It's almost unbearably light outside after the dark and dingy pub. They’re near the water, and she can hear a wayward seabird shouting in the distance. His eyes are still planted firmly on his feet. Narcissa maneuvered him, so he’s trapped between the wall and her body, so he doesn’t get skittish and try to leave until she does what she needs to do. 

She’s extending a shaky hand up under his chin, she’s a tall woman, but he will always dwarf her. She brushes the brown hair from his face, and in the afternoon light, she can see the flecks of grey there. 

“Narcissa-” he started to say, his voice gravelly, but she’s cutting him off with a kiss. It’s chaste, and she feels like she’s doing most of the work. She’s on her tiptoes even with her high heeled boots on. She pulled back and let go of his face. She started to step back to give him room to run away if he needs it, but she feels his hands suddenly trap her around her waist. He pulled her closer and slanted his mouth over hers. It’s not as passionate as their last alley kiss. This one feels warm and safe. She feels like a schoolgirl out in public like this snogging behind the bar in complete daylight. When he eventually pulled away for air, he looked at her reverently like he did the first time. She smiled up at him shyly before grabbing his hand and pulling him around the corner toward the street. 

“Come on. I’m starving, and if you were going to make me go to a muggle bar, you could have at least picked one with edible chips,” She scolded him over her shoulder. She glanced back to the biggest smile he’s ever given her. He’s pulling her into his side and wrapping his arm around her waist as they stroll down the street. 

“I believe there is a tapas place around the corner that might be closer to your pureblood sensibilities,” he whispered into her hair. She doesn’t let him move his arm away until they’re seated in the restaurant. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, 
> 
> Work has been nuts this week. I'm so glad to post this chapter finally. This was one of my favorite chapters to write so far. It was really important for me that Lupin be the one to tell her about his condition. This chapter also serves as a turning point for Narcissa from her canon character into someone maybe a little more accepting and tolerant. I'm hoping that over the course of the story, Lupin and Narcissa will be betrayed as an older, more mature romance (with probably small inevitable spats of drama), and Draco and Hermione will representing the other side of the coin with slightly more immature first-time romance. That's my low key writing process right now, lol. 
> 
> Look for another update toward the end of the week/weekend. Thank you for all the kudos and comments. I feel like I didn't check my account for a couple of days, and we're inching towards 300 now, which is awesome. I love it. 
> 
> Best Wishes, 
> 
> ivyeyed


	11. Remus Lupin

Remus Lupin could do little to control his anxiety on the afternoon of the school year’s final full moon. In his small office, he sat at his desk trying to grade the term’s final papers while his leg bounced wildly under the table. His normally neat desk was littered with parchment. Dumbledore still was sending him almost weekly notes pestering him to commit to another semester of teaching. His final exams had been considered a raging success among the faculty. And the normally weekly requests had turned into daily pleas. He had stopped opening them the past week, and now they seemed to have taken over his space. 

He had a small stack of Narcissa’s most recent correspondence propped up in front of an ink bottle. Her neat handwriting had been keeping him sane as the stress of the full moon drew nearer and nearer. Her most recent note was asking him to come to Andromeda’s for dinner after the term had ended and he had time to recover. She had seemed softer in her notes this week, and while he appreciated the sentiment, he found himself missing her biting wit. Since his return from the Easter Break, his relationships with the two remaining Blacks had seemed to have dramatically flipped. He had barely seen Draco outside of class, and that had left him with a continued feeling of dread. 

He had kept gentle tabs on him since confiscating the map from Harry Potter. Draco had started to spend an increasing amount of time in the library with Hermione Granger. The only student who had almost immediately figured out his affliction at the start of the term. He felt regret that he was most likely too late to come clean to Draco by his own admission. Every time he had invited the boy to tea, Draco had told him between helping Granger with the legal defense of the hippogriff that had attacked an upper-year Slytherin and preparing for his end of the year exams that he didn’t have the time. 

Remus had tried to give Draco space, but ever since Potter had informed him that the name of his long-dead friend had appeared on the map. Remus had been on edge. The map didn’t lie. Any witch’s or wizard’s name registered with the ministry should appear if they were alive and well in ink. Remus’s brain had been thrown into overdrive at what Peter’s reappearance could mean. He watched the dots labeled “Draco Black” and “Hermione Granger” head from the library to the Foyer. The trial had been this morning, and he had heard it had not been favorable to the Hippogriff. It was a shame that another powerful magical creature would find its demise at the end of the Ministry’s ax.

He watched their dots meet up with Potter’s and Weasley’s and head down to Hagrid’s hut. It was rather late for them to be out and about, but Remus had done far worse in his youth, and Sirius’s name was nowhere on the map currently. He supposed that he could always send Severus to retrieve them when he went to get his final dose of Wolfbane. It seemed cruel, but they shouldn’t be out after dark, especially tonight. 

The supply of Severus’s Wolfsbane kept him far more docile than any of his home-brewed attempts over the years had. The last time Moony had been this cooperative had been when Lily had briefly brewed for him after graduation and before her death. Remus quietly wondered if Andromeda may consider taking over for the summer. Her attempts surely would surpass his own. The teenagers’ dots had safely made it to Hagrid’s hut, and Remus figured if they weren’t headed back to the castle by dusk, he’d sound the alarm. His bones had begun to ache as moonrise inched closer. He put away his papers and attempted to clean up his desk. He was interrupted by an owl clawing at the glass on his windowsill. Narcissa had grown tired of the school barn owls and had bought an older tawny owl she had named Nimue to match her son’s own familiar. It was a wise little bird, though quite a bit slower than Pendragon. It was a short note, but it warmed his bones all the same. 

_ Stay safe tonight. Please.  _

Remus couldn’t remember the last time someone cared about his transformation. He wrote her back quickly that he would do his best and sent Nimue into the evening sky. The Sun was starting to set, and it was time for him to begin his descent to the whomping willow. He went to place Narcissa’s note on the table with her others and caught sight of dots headed back to the castle. He felt any relief quickly replaced with panic as he spied the fifth name written on the map. 

It wasn’t possible, but he saw it with his own eyes. Peter Pettigrew's dot was practically overlapping Ronald’s Weasley’s. Remus stood motionless as he watched the dots continue the steady climb towards the castle. He barely had time, maybe an hour and a half till moonrise. He could get Dumbledore and meet them in the foyer before Pettigrew was spooked and vanished again. He could survive a transformation without Wolfbane. He may wake up with more scars tomorrow, but surely it would be worth it. 

He was hastily pulling his cloak on when the map erupted into chaos. Sirius Black appeared out of Forbidden Forest, bounding to the group of five with deadly accuracy and speed that only Padfoot could achieve. Remus felt his breath knocked out of him as he watched his old friend’s dot drag Peter’s and Ronald’s toward the whomping willow. Harry’s, Hermione’s, and Draco’s were close behind. He felt utterly helpless watching them disappear one by one into passage under the Willow. Draco’s dot was last, and he could feel his hesitation through the enchanted parchment. For a brief moment, Remus thought he’d turn back to the castle to fetch help. Then Draco’s dot vanished with the others, and Remus felt himself running out of his office and through the empty halls, his imminent transformation miles away from his mind. 

Dinner was still thankfully happening, and no one witnessed his panicked sprint through the halls but the ghosts and empty suits of armor. He should have done many things at that moment, but he had never felt this level of fear. He had made it through the bloody war and the sheer dread he felt watching Draco disappear after Sirius Black put any of his previous smuggling adventures or battles to shame. His feet slid down the earth toward the familiar tree. His teaching robes were covered in mud, and he could barely breathe by the time he pressed the familiar knot in the bark. 

The passage is damp and dark, and he knows what waits for him at the end, and it scares him more than his usual fate. He heard the shouting and the familiar bark of the laugh from a man that had once been his brother. He had no plan, and it must show when he bound through the passageway into the Shrieking Shack and took in the scene in front of him. Harry and Draco have Sirius backed into a corner wandless. Ronald is clutching a rat to his chest and is bleeding from his left leg. Hermione, who had surely also had her wand trained on Sirius, now points it at him with anger in her eyes. Remus moved slowly in the room, keeping his eye carefully on Draco. He can’t look at Sirius, not until he knows the truth. 

“Easy, Hermione,” He instructed her softly as he moved closer to them and the corner where Sirius is trapped. His hands are raised in what he hopes is a placating position. Granger looked at him with almost more malice than Harry’s eyes have for Sirius. Remus’s brain is moving a mile a minute as he looks at the rat in the redheaded boy’s grasp, clearly trying to wiggle its way to freedom. 

“What are you doing, Granger?” Draco’s voice surprised him. He looks reluctant to remove his wand from Black but uneasy that Hermione’s is now pointed squarely at Remus’s chest. 

“You saw the photos, Black,” Hermione told him sternly, “They were friends.” 

Sirius barked out another laugh in the corner. 

“Took you long enough to show up, Moony,” Sirius mocked. “This little girl seems to have everything figured out and wants to take me straight to the dementors without even so much as a trial.” 

Remus can see Sirius toy with them. There is no time for this, though; all Remus can do is look at Draco’s pale face and think about how close moonrise must be now. They all need to get out of here. 

“Everyone needs to take a deep breath and listen for a moment,” he tried to use his Professor’s voice and reason with them. Potter looks like he may be swayed for a moment, but Granger has tears in her eyes and is shaking her wildly curly hair back and forth. 

“I covered for you all year, and you were helping him, weren’t you?” She half yelled at him. Her voice shook, but her wand arm remained steady. Remus realized that the timing of his arrival perhaps looked suspicious. He can also hear Sirius scoffing in the corner, which is probably not helping his own credibility. 

“I saw you all on the-” He tries to explain, but she’s interrupting him again. 

“Tell them all what you are, tell them your a-.” Granger’s wand is disarmed before she can finish her accusation. It’s flying across the room into the hand of the blonde boy that is now squarely between Remus and his new bushy-haired friend. He barely heard Draco utter the spell, and even Sirius seems surprised at the sudden shift in dynamic as he stops laughing and looks at the boy protecting Remus with more lucid eyes. 

“It’s not your place, Granger,” Draco snarled with steel his mother would be proud of. He held her wand in his right hand, and his own is pointed not at her but at the creature the Ronald Wealsy clutches directly behind her. The others can’t tell from the angle as Hermione stands between them, but Remus can see his true sights. 

“You can’t be serious, Black?” She shrieks with hurt in her brown eyes. Her shout that Remus Lupin is a werewolf overpowers Sirius, quietly joking in the corner, “That’s me, love.” Ronald and Harry certainly look surprised. Draco is just shaking his head in anger. 

“I fucking know, Granger,” It’s the first time Draco has sworn in front of him, and despite the dire circumstances, Remus is shocked to watch the boy he has known since infancy start to transform into a man in front of his eyes. 

“Think about the photos, Granger,” Draco informed her evenly. Remus can see the gears move in her brain. He doesn’t know what the pictures Draco speaks of, but he can guess their contents based on where Draco is currently pointing his wand. 

“Moony,” Draco jerked his head back toward Remus.

“Padfoot,” He nodded his head over to the crazed man in the corner. Remus can hear the rat in Ronald’s clenched hands squeal louder and struggle. 

“Prongs,” Draco acknowledged Harry, whose eyes had screwed up behind his glasses as the blonde boy continued to speak. 

“Wormtail,” he says with ice in his voice while looking directly at the rat struggling for freedom. Sirius is laughing again manically while the others in the room remain in the dark. 

“You don’t much look like a Black, mate, but you have to be with that cunning,” Sirius tells him rather sinisterly before darting by Potter and pulling the rat out of Ronald’s grasp. 

“Scabbers,” the redhead shouts weakly. Draco lowers his wand as Sirius explained what exactly Draco Black meant by his observation to the others in the room. The golden trio looked dumbfounded, and Draco wordlessly hands Granger back her wand as her posture relaxes away from Remus. 

It took him and Sirius casting together for the first time in years to bring Peter out of the transformation. The Weasley boy looked the most terrified of the four of them watching his pet turn into an equally rodent looking man. Sirius immediately wanted to kill him, but Remus looks at the darkening windows outside and can’t bring himself to pass the same judgment. Time is almost up, and Draco and his classmates need to be far away from this desolate shack. 

“You all need to go. I didn’t finish the course of Wolfsbane,” he informed them all resolutely. Draco jumped into action, quickly going over to Ronald to help him stand on his good leg. 

“You can’t be serious, Remus,” Sirius asks him, looking positively feral. “This is our one chance for James and Lily,” he pleaded with him desperately. He can see his brother from his youth, who he would have followed anywhere. It doesn’t matter how much Remus wants to pass sentence. He just needs one glance at the other Black in the room to be reminded of what is really a stake. He can feel his bones starting to burn. They need to go before it’s too late. 

“We’ll give him to the dementors,” Potter said with more wisdom than his age. 

“Let him exonerate you, Sirius,” Remus pleaded with the maddened shell of his childhood best friend. Sirius doesn’t look happy about the decision, but he is moving toward the passageway. They stun Pettigrew and levitate him through the opening. Granger led them out, and Potter took over helping Weasley. Draco is the last one behind. They look at each other across the room, and Draco suddenly seems small again in his reluctance to leave him. 

“You need to go, Draco. It will be any minute now,” Remus told him softly, shrugging his robe off. 

“I’m sorry,” Draco blurted out, “I should have come to you sooner.” Draco’s face is racked with guilt. Remus is shaking his head at the boy. 

“You need to go,” Remus tried again, “It’ll be alright.” Draco is still frozen in his spot. 

“You’re mother will kill me if anything happens to you,” Remus tires again to a small smile from Draco. 

Remus doubles over as he feels his bones start to break. 

“Go Draco, please,” he yelled at him desperately. Remus’s eyes are closed as pain burns through his body. It’s so much worse without the Wolfbane. He can hear a commotion in the tunnel and hoped that they could make it to safety in time. Remus Lupin's body rips apart under the full moon, and the man slips into the beast yet again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, 
> 
> This chapter was really hard to write. I went back and forth on who would be the narrator a lot and like what beats to keep from the original scene and what I wanted to change. Thank you so much for all the feedback and kudos it was overwhelming for the last chapter. You are all amazing! Look for the next update over the weekend it'll be from Draco's perspective. 
> 
> Best  
> ivyeyed


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